My war diary

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MY WAR DIARY

MY WAR DIARY

BY MARY KING WADDINGTON

(MADAME WADDINGTON)

AUTHOR OF "A DIPLOMAT'S WIFE," "CHATEAU AND
COUNTRY LIFE IN FRANCE," ETC.

LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.

1918

A U rights reserved.

PREFACE

This simple, every-day record of the experi-
ences through which one French family has lived
since August 1914. may seem at first sight a charm-
ing, but not very important contribution to the
literature of the war. But if we accept Henry
Cabot Lodge's dictum that "one fact is gossip,
and that two related facts are history," we shall
realise in closing the book how much history
we have absorbed in a Jourdainesque kind of
ignorance.

The cure at Mareuil, the little grandsons
finding a German skull, the lawn sacrificed to
potatoes, the roses rising triumphant over utilita-
rianism, the good-byes at the railroad-stations,
the Christmas tree, the friendly talks ... all
these may be trifles in one way ; but they are
making history. After all, we know more about
the Lilliputians than about the Brobdingnagians,
and they are more illustrative of Swift.

This story of the past war months is like a
rich fabric so cunningly woven that the rare and
restrained touches of emotion stand out in bril-
liant relief against the neutral — no, that word
has fallen into disrepute — against the sober tones
of the daily background. And it is only in cer-

vi PREFACE

tain lights that one catches the gleam of the dis»-
creetly hidden threads of gold and silver which
indicate the heroism of mother and wife. Ah,
they are beautiful and sublime, these lives of
French women ! Son or husband at the front,
while the children at home are cared for, the
wounded, poor, and wandering" helped, fields
tilled, shops kept open, and everything- done
cheerfully, "all in the day's work," with no posing,
no assumption of being above the ordinary.

To those of us honoured by the author's friend-
ship this book means a great deal. We have
seen her brilliant in the world, tender and gay
at home, helpful and widely charitable in her
many duties, while all the time we divine that
the mother's heart holds always the pride and
the ache of which she writes so seldom.

Helen Choate Prince.

MOBILISATION— FIRST DAYS OF
THE WAR

Mareuil,
Saturday, ist August 19 14.

I will try and write regularly, Dear, but this
iniquitous war has come so suddenly that we are
all bewildered. Even my journey down here
seems a horrible dream — the Gare de l'Est crowded
with troops of all grades, reservists joining their
corps, soldiers guarding the line, a strong detach-
ment at every bridge and tunnel. When I think
that on Thursday, when Francis lunched, he said
the state of things was serious, that many men
had been sent off to join their corps, but merely
as a matter of precaution, but that the two
Emperors, German and Russian, were still "talk-
ing," and every one hoped there would be no
general war! He thought I could perfectly start
for Cowes on Monday, and it was agreed that I
should come down here for the day, Saturday, to
say good-bye to them all. However, I must say
that on Wednesday night, when Ambassador
Herrickand Sir Austin Lee of the British Embassy
had dined with us, they were pretty blue. Mr
Herrick thought a general war was inevitable ; it
1

2 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

would be impossible to keep it between Austria
and Servia ; that Russia would surely interfere if
Servia was attacked, and then France must fight.
Friday afternoon we drove about Paris in all
directions. Here in our part of the town and in
the Champs Elysees, all was quiet enough, but
the boulevards were crowded. In front of the office
of the Matin that issued an extra about 7 o'clock,
a long line of people stretched half-way across
the boulevard. All threw themselves on the paper,
those who could not get one reading over the
shoulders of those who had one. A perfectly
quiet, well-dressed crowd, a great many women,
a great many Americans, all most eager for news.
Austria's declaration of war to Russia, the only
news — speculations of all kinds in the crowd ;
"Austria has gone mad," we heard an English-
man say ; everybody wondering what France
would do ; all the men looked grave, but there
was no excitement. The Petit Temps, which
comes about 9 o'clock, didn't give anything more,
so I decided to come down here, as we had agreed.
As soon as I got into the Gare de l'Est this
morning, I realised how serious the state of affairs
was. The station was crowded with officers,
soldiers, recruits, and baggage. They gave me a
return ticket, as I had told Henrietta1 I would take
the afternoon train back and get home for late
dinner. I asked an officer what it all meant :
Merely a measure of precaution, he told me — all
the men, officers, soldiers, and recruits joining their
corps. There was perfect order, the trains starting

1 Madame Waddington's sister.

FIRST SIGNS OF WAR 3

at their regular hours, but anxiety was in the air.
At every station there were soldiers.

On getting- here, I found only the gardener to
receive me. He told me Francis1 had received his
convocation this morning, and had gone to Paris
with Charlotte, but would be back for dinner.
It was extraordinary to see soldiers at our little
station. I lunched quietly with Madeleine Sal-
landrouze and the children. We walked about
the garden, the boys showing me their potager
with much pride, and then settled ourselves under
the trees, discussing the situation and trying to
persuade ourselves that there would be no war.

Suddenly, about 4 o'clock, we heard the drum,
an ominous sound in these days. In all the big
towns, the mobilisation, or a great fire, or accident,
is announced by the bells — a " tocsin " ; in the
villages by a drum. We all rushed to the gate.
The men came running in from the fields (we are
in full harvest time), leaving their horses and
placid wrhite oxen on the road, anywhere. Women
ran out of the cottages, their babies in their arms,
and children tugging at their skirts, and the
drummer, escorted by the whole population, us
also, put up his affiches at the Mairie and the
station, for instant mobilisation. The whole
village was in a turmoil. Some of the men were
to start at once — at 9 that night. The chef de
gare had his orders ; nothing but military trains
were to pass — you will remember that we are in
the direct line to Germany, five hours' rail from
the frontier. He told me it was impossible for me

1 Madame Waddington's son.

4 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

to get back to Paris to-night ; the train would
probably not start, might wait on a siding all
night, or perhaps arrive in the middle of the
night. It would be most imprudent for me to
risk it alone. I tried to telephone — already cut ;
sent a telegram which never arrived, and Henrietta
went nearly mad with anxiety waiting for me and
imagining every possible misfortune.

Mme. Sallandrouze came down at 6 o'clock
alone. Francis and Charlotte1 had breakfasted
with her and promised to meet her at the gare,
but they didn't appear. I suppose he had too
much to do, as he had to buy all sorts of things —
army shoes and flannel shirts, knapsack, flask, etc.
Hers was the last passenger-train that left the
Gare de l'Est. She thought Francis must start
to-morrow morning.

All the evening from 6 o'clock, military trains
passed ; mostly cavalry — horses and men in the
trains, all cheering and singing. Our boys were
wild with excitement, but we finally got them to
bed. When I went upstairs to say good-night
to them, they were saying their prayers, kneeling
before a little shrine with a statue of the Virgin
and some flowers — Mme. S. and Madeleine kneel-
ing just behind them. When they had finished
their little childish prayer, " Bon Dieu, benissez
Papa, Maman, Bonne Maman, Danny, tout ceux
que nous aimons," there was a pause, and then .
" Bon Dieu, preservez la France." I think, per-
haps, that simple baby prayer will be listened to
as much as the superb proclamations of the

1 Madame Waddington's daughter-in-law.

ARRIVAL IN PARIS 5

Kaiser to the "God of our fathers, who is always
with us! "

All night the trains passed. About 9.30 we
heard the sound of cheering-, and ran down to the
edge of the garden to see the soldiers. We thought
the boys were sound asleep in their beds, but we
suddenly saw two little figures in their white night-
gowns, running over the lawn and the tennis-court,
barefoot, waving their flags and shouting: "Vive
l'armee! Vive la France!" at the top of their
voices. They climbed upon the wall and no one
had the heart to send them away. I have sent
again to the last train, which did not come, and
the chef de gare assures me there is no chance
of our getting away to-morrow. I am perfectly
miserable. I must see Francis before he goes. I
may never see him again. I don't think any one
is sleeping much to-night, in this house or in the
village.

Paris, Sunday, 2nd August.

Have arrived, but such a journey. I was up
at 6 this morning, as the chef de gare sent me
word a train might perhaps come at 7 o'clock,
and I had better come at once to the station and
wait for it, but that everything was very uncer-
tain ; he could not guarantee that it would reach
Paris. I went as soon as I could get ready, and
waited at the station until the train arrived about
8 — a very long one, almost entirely military, only
one or two passenger carriages, which were
crowded.

We were fourteen in our carriage (which in
ordinary times seats eight), ten seated, four stand-

6 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

ing, and three children. We stopped at every
station, soldiers on our train, and all the trains we
passed, singing and cheering. At one of the small
stations, many of the soldiers got out and were
transferred to the Chateau-Thierry line, and from
there, directly to the front. A pretty girl was
saying good-bye to her soldier and crying. She
was instantly taken to task by one of his comrades
on our train. "Voyons, petite, du courage; ne
pleure pas ; nous reviendrons ! '; She looked up
at me through her tears, saying : " Tous ne revien-
dront pas, Madame." And that is what we all
are saying in these awful days. Who will be miss-
ing at the final roll-call? However, all the men
are going off cheerfully, and sure that they are
going to win this time.

We had a nice family in the compartment, a
refined, clever-looking young man, a professor
from Alencon, with his wife and two babies.
They had been travelling since 5 o'clock yesterday
afternoon, and the poor little things were so hot
and tired, but wonderfully good. They had been
at Verdun, close to the frontier, for their holidays,
and took the last train that left, as the professor
had to start instantly with his regiment. He said
the mobilisation was being wonderfully carried
out. One hour after the order was posted, trains
were leaving every half-hour — men and horses
in perfect condition, and the spirit of the men
excellent.

I am frightened at the superiority in numbers
of the Germans. They say they have three men
to one over us. One man, however good he may
be, cannot hold his own against three.

INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY 7

They had left in such a hurry that they had
no baggage. Couldn't have taken it if they had
had it. All their belongings were tied up in a
nice clean linen sheet. When we got to Paris I
said to her: "I hope you and your babies will
get safely to Alencon, and that happier days are
in store for you." Then she broke down, kissed
me, and said: "Ah, Madame, my troubles are
only beginning. At Alencon my husband leaves
at once for his regiment at the frontier!" I said
to him : " I mustn't say ' Bonne chance,' but I can
say 'Courage.' This wicked war has been so
forced upon us that we must win." He answered :
" I hope and believe it, Madame, but how much
blood must flow, how many lives be sacrificed,
before we get to the end of our struggle!" He
did not look as if he could stand much, a slight,
delicate figure, but his fighting blood was up, as
it is in every man in France to-day.

We had to wait a few minutes in the train,
when we got to Paris, to let a military train pass.
It was pathetic to see the young soldiers, some of
them looked mere boys — all were brave and gay,
trying to keep up. One nice fair-headed child
(for that is what he looked like) was saying good-
bye to his mother and sisters. The women were
smiling and talking until the last moment, when
the train started, and the young fellow jumped
on to his carriage. Then the poor mother broke
down and sobbed. The girls pushed her back,
saying : ' Don't let him see you cry ; wave your
handkerchief! "

The whole aspect of the place was changed
since I left yesterday morning. Then all the

13

8 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

trains and autobuses were running- as usual ; nor
were there many people outside the station ; it
was only when I got inside and saw the crowd
of soldiers and reservists that I had realised that
war was not only possible, but probable. This
morning it is absolutely deserted — no tramways,
no autobus. They were all taken off at 10 o'clock
last night, and utilised at once for the army.
Very few cabs, and they were instantly taken
by officers. I had to walk to the church of St
Augustin before I got one ; such a broken-down
old nag, he could hardly get along. The coach-
man told me that all the good horses had been
taken at once for the army.

I was completely exhausted, body and mind,
when I got to the house, and poor H. was almost
as tired. She had waited dinner until nearly 10
o'clock, imagining all sorts of things. Francis
and Charlotte had been to see her, saying they
were going down to Mareuil at 4 o'clock. Then
came the news of the mobilisation, and all the
people who came in to see her, told her there was
no chance of any train leaving Mareuil that night.
The whole "ligne de l'Est" was taken for the mili-
tary. I found nothing from Francis ; but a telegram
came later from him, asking me to meet him at the
Gare de l'Est to-morrow morning at 9 o'clock. He
was to join his regiment at Caen that afternoon.

The M.'s and De C. F. dined, all saying that
the spirit and attitude of the French were splendid.
No declaration of war yet from Germany. I
wonder what she is waiting for. We are still
doubtful about England. If she comes with us,
I think Germany is finished — but will she ?

FRENCH RED CROSS 9

Monday, $rd August.

I was at the Gare de l'Est at 9, getting: there
with difficulty with Arsene, who still has his
horses. He asked me to bring my coupe-file,1 as
he had been stopped once or twice the other day
by officers who wanted his horses. I waited until
1 1 for Francis, sitting; in the carriage — I didn't
dare get out for fear some one would take it.

The street was most interesting, crowded with
people, soldiers, army wagons, every now and
then a squad of recruits passing with their sacks
on their backs, the crowd following and carrying-
their bundles. Two equipes d'infirmiere de la
Croix Rouge in uniform, in private autos, driven
by their owners and going at full speed. Their
Red Cross flag gave them the right to pass every-
thing-, like the pompiers. They were, of course,
wildly cheered : ' Vivent les Femmes de France!"
There was a great demand for conveyances, and
I suppose the cochers de fiacre asked exorbitant
prices, as we heard a row going on between an
officer and a coachman, who evidently had refused
to take him. (Officers and Croix Rouge nurses
needn't pay if they haven't the money.) However,
the crowd would have settled that matter by break-
ing the carriage to pieces. They were beginning
to demolish it when he gave in. As they passed
us, he was scowling- and muttering to himself, the
officer standing up in the carriage, his sword out
of the scabbard, unpleasantly near the back of
the coachman's neck. One of the young- reservists

1 Police-pass.

10 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

stopped alongside of my carriage, saying civilly
enough: "C'est mal, Madame, de rester assise
seule dans votre voiture ; vous devriez la donner
aux militaires ! " "Que voulez-vous, mon ami,
j'attends mon militaire ; je l'emmene a. la gare pour
partir rejoindre son regiment."

He appeared at 1 1 o'clock, my militaire, look-
ing' very well and fit ; his hair cut short, a sack on
his back, another in his hand, good stout shoes,
and a flannel shirt. He was rather blue, having'
left his wife and children at Mareuil — had put
his house on a war footing". There are only maids
in the house, and two boys of eighteen, a young
footman, and gardener. Mme. Sallandrouze and
Madeleine stay with Charlotte. He gave his wife
a Browning and revolver, showed her and the
English nurse how to use them ; gave strict orders
that the house should be shut and barred every
night at 8 o'clock, and should show as little light
as possible. The farmer next door promised to
come in every day and look after them. The
miller, also a friend of the family, promised sacks
of flour. Francis was not afraid of Germans
getting anywhere near this time, but of tramps
or a wandering population who might get roused
if we should have a reverse at first, which is quite
possible.

He came up to breakfast with us, and then I
went to the station. They would not let me go
in ; no women were allowed inside, but a great
many had come with their men, and the leave-
takings were trying — though I must say, as a
rule, the women behaved beautifully. I was glad
when it was over and my boy with his bright

DECLARATION OF WAR 11

smile had disappeared under the voute. Still he
was not going directly to the front as so many of
his cousins are — Walter and John Waddington,
Pierre Guerard, all cavalrymen, who will bear the
first brunt — but such partings leave their mark.
Two women in a shop looked at me so sympa-
thetically, saying: " Pauvre dame, c'est son fils
qui part ! " There were quantities of people in
the place, but perfect order. Not a cry of "A
Berlin!" or of "A bas les Allemands ! " merely
1 Vive l'Armee ! " as the train steamed out of the
station.

We had visitors all the afternoon, all sorts of
rumours flying about. There are thousands of
Americans stranded here, without money, and
without any means of getting home! The Am-
bassador has his hands full. The Embassy and
Chancellerie are besieged. Schon, the German
Ambassador, is still here and very blue. Ger-
many has not yet declared war on France; wants
to provoke France into declaring it first, but she
won't move — only mobilised as a measure of
prudence, as other nations were doing the same.

Tuesday, \ih August.

The declaration of war from Germany came
this morning. Such a trivial, lying message,
given verbally by Schon, the Ambassador, to
Viviani, Foreign Minister — in substance that
French troops had invaded German soil, and that
aeroplanes had dropped bombs in Germany —
which they knew was perfectly untrue. Viviani
listened in perfect silence, merely saying the

12 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

accusations were quite false, and that preparations
would be made at once for the Ambassador's
departure. He left this evening- in a special
train, with all his staff, without a hostile demon-
stration of any kind — absolute silence when he
made his way to his carriage. Mr Martin,
Directeur du Protocole, was on the platform to
see that all the arrangements were well carried
out. Mr Herrick takes over the German interests,
and I think will have plenty to do, as there are
many women, wives of workmen and employees,
who could not get away with their men.

The headquarters of the Croix Rouge is almost
next door to us in the rue Francois Ier, and the
activity there is wonderful — autos, carriages,
camions all day at the door. Officers and nurses
in uniform, coming and going, and boy scouts
starting off in all directions, carrying messages.
I rather protested at the boys being enrolled, but
some of our men friends explained that they could
do an excellent service ; a strong, intelligent boy
of twelve or fourteen years could carry verbal
messages perfectly well, and also get in and out of
places where a full-grown man couldn't pass ; also
that they are so eager to go and be of some use.
I suppose we ought not to hold them back. At
an open window of the rez-de-chaussee, two ladies
are taking down the names and addresses of the
scores of girls and women who stand all day in
a long line, asking to be employed in some way.

While I was standing outside, waiting to speak
to Henry Outrey, I met my niece Marguerite
Delmas — one married daughter, whose husband is
with the army, and her son with her. She had

THE DEPUTIES AND JAURES 13

come up from the country where she is installing
an ambulance in her chateau, and was waiting in
hopes of getting a nurse whom she would take
down with her. Her auto has been requisitionne\
but she had managed to find another, and was
anxious to get away as soon as possible. I
brought them all back to breakfast. The husbands
of both her daughters are gone, but the girls
are very brave, going back with their mother to
do hospital work. They started at 3 o'clock with
the nurse.

The seance in the Chambre des Deputes was
splendid to-day — all the deputes standing when
Deschanel, the President of the Chamber, made
a panegyric of Jaures. After all, according to
his lights and conscience he was a patriot, was
dead, assassinated, and all party feeling should be
stilled before his tragic end. The President's
proclamation and Viviani's statement, showing
how France had been forced into the war, were
enthusiastically received, all the deputies standing
and cheering, and turning to the diplomatic
tribune, where were the British and Russian
Ambassadors.

I went late to the U.S. Embassy. Quantities
of people were waiting in the anterooms and
gallery. The Ambassador and Mrs Herrick were
in his library, with several American women and
his secretaries coming and going all the time with
despatches, telegrams, and cards of people who
wanted to see the Ambassador. He had seen
Schon before he went. Some one of the Germans
had suggested that Herrick should put up the
German llag at the American Embassy — a most

14 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

brilliant idea, but not very practical — which,
naturally, was immediately rejected. The Amer-
ican Embassy would have been demolished at
once. The French are behaving wonderfully well,
so calm and dignified, but one must not ask too
much of them, and the sight of the German flag
floating amicably alongside of the Stars and
Stripes would have been too much for their
nerves.

Various men came in this afternoon. The
principal news that Germany has violated Belgian
territory — her troops having invaded Belgium. I
don't think England will stand that ; still she has
not moved yet, except to say that she would protect
the French seacoast.

Wednesday, $th August.

Great news this morning! Hurrah for old
England! She declared war on Germany at 12
o'clock last night. She had waited until then for
an answer to her ultimatum saying Germany must
respect the treaty and not invade Belgium. The
answer was perfectly unsatisfactory when it came,
and war was declared at once — instant mobilisation
of army and navy ordered. It is an immense
relief to us, as now Great Britain can blockade
Germany's ports and not only take her ships and
stop her commerce, but eventually starve her, if
the war lasts long. This will be a great blow to
the German Emperor, who never believed that
Britain would go against him ; that the two great
Protestant powers would fight each other.

Accounts from Berlin say the Kaiser is quite
demoralised, shut up in his palace, not showing

EAGER VOLUNTEERS 15

himself, the triumphant "War Lord," to his
people. De Courcy told us to-day that he heard
from friends in Berlin that there had been very
stormy scenes between the Kaiser and the Crown
Prince before the declaration of war, the Crown
Prince insisting that war was necessary, the
Kaiser resisting. Finally the son said: "You
must fight ; if not, it is the end of the Hohen-
zollerns!" After a few moments' hesitation, the
Kaiser answered: "We will fight; but it will be
the end of Germany ! "

I passed the Croix Rouge on my way down-
town. Still the same crowd, autos filled with
bags and bundles, and the long file of women
waiting patiently at the window. I talked to a
nice-looking countrywoman of uncertain age, who
wanted to speak to some one in authority. I
said to her : " What do you want ? You are
too old to start as a nurse." 'Not I, Madame,
but my daughter, who is young and strong; there
must be work for women." I talked to the girl,
a nice, healthy-looking young peasant, with good,
honest blue eyes — evidently very poor, almost
in rags. ' Do you know anything about nurs-
ing?" ' No, Madame." "Canyousew?" "No,
Madame; but do help me to get to the front."
I read her from the notices posted up that the
Croix Rouge had so many offers of service they
couldn't even answer them. They would only
take doctors, surgeons, or medical students of
both sexes. It didn't make the least difference;
she remained standing in the file, saying : " There
must be something for me to do as I am young
and strong. I can scrub floors, make beds, lift

16 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

heavy things, run messages. Oh, Madame, do
help me to go ! "

I had not then seen Viviani's proclamation
to the women of France, calling upon all those
who were young and strong to replace the men in
the fields, ensure this year's harvest, and prepare
the next.

There were a great many people and great con-
fusion inside the Croix Rouge. I wanted to see
the Comtesse d'Haussonville, the Presidente. She
is indefatigable, there all day, from 8 in the morning
till 8 at night, attending to everything, sending
off bands of nurses (her own daughter with one
group at Rethel on the frontier), stores of all
kinds, and organising work in all the arrondisse-
ments of Paris. She looks very tired, and yet
this is only the beginning of the war.

I wanted to speak to her about starting an
ouvroir with one of my friends, Mrs Mygatt, who
has lived a great deal in Paris, and is very anxious
to give some help to the poor women of France.
Mr Mygatt will give us rooms in his office in the
Boulevard Haussmann, and we can dispose of
one or two competent maids, sewing women, and
sewing-machines ; but we must find out what
are the things most needed, and get patterns of
shirts, calecons, bandages, etc. I waited some time,
but couldn't see Mme. d'Haussonville; shall try
another day.

People are in and out of our house all day, and
we hear all sorts of rumours. The papers are sen-
sible ; don't have too many foolish stories, and the
minimum of war news. The Germans have had
a good repulse in Belgium. They believed with

ENGLAND DECLARES WAR 17

their usual arrogance that they could march
straight through Belgium directly to Paris, make
a great coup at once, knock Paris to pieces, get
large sums of money, then turn their attention
to the Russians, who are slow in moving and have
great distances to cover and few railways. They
never dreamed that Belgium would resist, or that
Great Britain would fight against them. The
defence of Liege has been heroic, their forts hold-
ing out splendidly.

I have a letter from Charlotte this morning ; all
well, and living as quietly as possible. They have
suppressed all luxuries in their daily life ; black
coffee, afternoon tea, cakes, etc. If any one is
hungry in the afternoon, they can have dry bread
and cheese ; but they only have two good meals a
day, not always meat. All day long military trains
pass, soldiers always gay and cheering. As soon
as they will give me a pass I will try and get
down there and take them some provisions, but
as one can only take a hand-bag I couldn't carry
much.

There is a certain detente in the air since
Britain's attitude. At some of the cafes in the
Champs Elysees people were sitting outside taking
their aperitifs and reading the papers. The city
is pavoise ; flags are flying everywhere, quite a
number of British flags with the Tricolour, a few
Russian. Gery Cullum walks about the streets all
day with a Tricolour cockade and a small British
flag pinned on his coat. He says lots of people
come up to him and shake hands violently — one
man saying to him the other day: " C'est beau,
mon vieux, la France et l'Angleterre ensemble ;

18 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

rien ne tiendra contre nous ! " Dieu le veuille !
It is such an iniquitous war, has been so forced
upon us, that I can't think we can be beaten.
Even for Germany's masses of troops, the coalition
of France, Great Britain, and Russia must be a
formidable one.

Friday, 7th August.

The Belgians are fighting splendidly. Their
great forts at Liege, with the guns encased in steel
turrets as on battleships, are making havoc with
the Germans, who didn't expect any resistance.
The French have not taken any part as yet, but
troops are being hurried to the Belgian frontier.

I have a telegram from Francis this morning,
from Octeville, a suburb of Cherbourg. He says
he is well and busy.

Daisy Cameron came in before breakfast, and
we went to the Affaires Etrangeres to see if we
could get any news of her niece Mary whom she
had left at Heidelberg with a German governess.
We saw the Chef de Cabinet, who told us no com-
munication was possible with Berlin. I thought
that as the American Ambassador there, Mr
Gerard, had taken on the French interests, he
would probably have means of communication
with Paris ; but he said there was no way of getting
at Berlin. She might get information, perhaps,
through Rome. If Mr Herrick would telegraph
to the United States Ambassador in Rome, he
could communicate with his colleague in Berlin,
but that France could do nothing. Daisy was
very worried, as she was afraid the child with her
governess might have left Heidelberg, trying to

FIGHTING AT MULHAUSEN 19

join her in Paris ; and of course a German would
never have been allowed to enter France.

Saturday, 2>th August.

I went to the bank yesterday, which was
crowded with Americans, all wanting money, and
the bank giving very little. They did give me
some, but no gold. Then I went to the annex of
the Croix Rouge in the rue Charron, to see about
starting an ouvroir, giving work to the hundreds
of women who are utterly destitute — but I don't
find any one very competent. I will try another
day.

Daisy came in late and we walked down to the
American Embassy, where the American com-
mittees, Repatriation and Ambulance, seem to be
sitting in permanence. The Ambassador told me
the news was excellent : the French had advanced
in Alsace and had taken Miilhausen. He thinks
the Germans are going to be badly beaten.

Sunday, qt/i August.

Good news this morning. French at Miilhausen
enthusiastically received by the entire population.
Germans driven off at the point of the bayonet,
and pursued by French cavalry. No names given
of killed and wounded. The loss of life must have
been terrific. I went to the American church,
which was crowded. They sang splendidly the
hymn "O God of Battles!" which rather upset
me. Of course all one's nerves are on end.

I went to breakfast with the Carrolls. It was
so cool and peaceful sitting on their terrace opening

20 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

on the garden, with birds singing, and the scent of
flowers all around us, that it was hard to believe a
fierce battle was raging just over the frontier.
They live in an old-fashioned part of Paris in the
Faubourg St Germain, a quiet street, few houses
and big gardens, very little passing at any time —
nothing to-day. Charlie Carroll is very busy on
the Repatriation Committee sending Americans
home, and she is on the Executive Committee for
the buying of material for the American Ambulance.

The Ambassador, in the name of his com-
patriots in Paris, has offered to the French
Government an ambulance entirely equipped with
a competent staff of surgeons, doctors, and nurses,
and sufficient funds to run the whole thing. They
have taken the Lycee Pasteur, a large new building
at Neuilly, near the American Hospital, under
whose supervision the ambulance is put. The
building is enormous, high, large rooms and courts,
plenty of air and space. They can put in two
thousand beds, but are beginning with five hundred.
It is a most generous contribution, and is much
appreciated by the French.

I stayed at home all the afternoon as it was
very hot. We had a great many people at tea-
time. They only got tea and pain de menage^ —
no such luxuries as cakes in war-time. There is
little news. Very angry letters from Americans
and English stranded in Germany, who are being
outrageously treated. Jusserand, who is here on
leave, wants to get back to America. He and
his wife, Joe Stevens, and other friends are at
Havre, hoping to sail on the France. They have
been there for several days, but the steamer does

THE AUSTRIAN AMBASSADOR 21

not dare venture out, as German battleships are
still cruising in the Atlantic.

Jusserand was afraid the enormous German
population in America would create a hostile feel-
ing toward France; but I don't think he need
worry himself on that score. The Germans them-
selves are rapidly alienating" all sympathy from
the United States. Everyone is speculating' and
commenting on the attitude of the Austrian
Ambassador, Count Szecsen, who still remains
here — must, I suppose, until Austria declares war
upon France, or sends troops to reinforce the
Germans before Liege, which apparently she is
doing quietly, without saying anything. He
doesn't seem to realise his position.

He went to dine at the Union Club the other
night and asked Lahovary, the Roumanian
Minister, to dine with him. They had just sat
down when a message came to Lahovary saying
some one wanted to speak to him upon urgent
business. When he got out of the dining-room,
he found several of the clubmen who told him he
must tell the Ambassador to go. They didn't
want to be rude to him, or make a scandal, but
they would certainly turn their backs on him,
and not speak to him. Lahovary went back to
the Ambassador, saying, " I have a disagreeable
communication to make to you," and gave his
message. Szecsen was furious, said: "I thought
I was with gentlemen!" "So you are," said
Lahovary, "but with French gentlemen who are
unwilling to meet you at present, and would prefer
y<>u should leave the club quietly and not make
a scandal." He was most unwilling to go — wanted

22 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

Lahovary still to dine with him, which he absolutely
refused to do. He departed at last in a rage,
saying: "Where can I get my dinner? I can't
run the risk of being insulted in a restaurant!"
He is still here ; wants to oblige France to give
him his passports, as that would force Italy to
move, France being the aggressor. But France
will not be quite so foolish as that. I think when
the Italians move, which they must do eventually,
it will not be against us. They are most out-
spoken, even the Embassy men. In their hearts
all Italians must hate Austria; her rule in Italy
was so cruel.

Loubat came to see us late before dinner, and
was very interesting. He was here in 1870, saw
all the troops go off, many of them already hostile
to the Emperor before starting, and even those
who were not, so nervous and excited and doubtful
of their generals — soldiers as well as officers —
and the talk at all the clubs so violent and wild.
Now the whole of France marches like one man.
No excitement, no cries of "A Berlin!" the men
grave, but cheerful, the women splendid, saying
good-bye to their men without a tear, and
encouraging them to the last moment ; but all
feel what a terrible struggle is before us.

Monday, 10th At/gust.

It has been frightfully hot all day. There was
very little war news this morning. All the move-
ments of troops have been kept very quiet. It
is awful to wake up every morning with such a
weight on one's heart. The stillness of the city,

PREPARING FOR THE WOUNDED 23

too, is so awful, so unlike Paris. Very little
passing, no loud talking or laughing-, not a sound
of singing or whistling since the declaration of war.
I would give anything to hear the workmen singing
and chaffing in the big house they are building
opposite to us, but there are none left ; all have
gone to the front. The only note of gaiety are
the boy scouts attached to the " Red Cross," who
breakfast every morning at the cafe on the corner ;
they range from twelve to sixteen, look as lively
as possible, such eager young faces and so im-
portant. I often stop and talk to them and ask
for news.

I tried again to-day at the annex of the Red
Cross to get some models of garments for the
sick and wounded, and to know what were the
things most needed, but no one seemed to know
anything. They sent me from one room to another.
Everywhere ladies were working, rolling bandages
and hemming handkerchiefs. They asked me if
I had come to work, and would I hem handker-
chiefs ; that I declined absolutely. Really not
worth while to waste my time that way. Any
school-child would have been delighted to earn
a few sous and hem all they wanted. When I
was finally told I had better see the Mayor of my
arrondissement and ask for permission, my temper
and patience gave way, and I expressed myself
vigorously to the very mild old gentleman — a
tapissier in ordinary times, who was the last person
1 was sent to. It is really too bad, at such a
time, the amount of talking and writing and red-
tape generally one must go through before
accomplishing anything. I wanted their models,

c

24 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

because some of the shirts that have been sent to
the hospitals could never have been put on any-
human figure — the neck so small that the head
of a new-born babe could hardly pass, and long-,
narrow sleeves that hung- like strings from the
shoulders.

However, one must not criticise, for the Red
Cross is doing splendid work, and they must be
driven crazy with all the inane offers of service
they receive.

We had a good many visits this afternoon —
some of the ladies connected with the American
ambulance. Forty ladies meet at the Embassy
every day. Mrs Herrick is president, and she
will certainly get all the money she wants. People
are all so fond of her. She came in late, looking
rather exhausted, but revived with a cup of tea ;
said the meetings were very tiring, so many
suggestions and opinions, and forty women all
talking at once.

Charlie Forbes and Gery Cullum dined with us.
We warned them they would have a very frugal
repast. No one has anything else these days —
but they didn't mind. They had dined last night
at one of the big cafes on the boulevards — dinner
very good, a great many people ; diplomatists and
strangers. At 9 o'clock two policemen appeared,
saying the doors must be closed. No one made
any objection ; all trooped out into the street and
walked about a little. At 10 o'clock the boulevard
was as deserted and quiet as any provincial town.

The troops have been sent off very quietly,
either at night or by the underground railway.
We have seen no regiments marching through the

DEPARTURE OF COUNT SZECSEN 25

streets, flags flying-, music playing, followed by
an enthusiastic, excited crowd. I have never
seen Paris so calm.

Tuesday, nth August.

Another very warm day — no particular news in
the paper. The allied armies seem to have joined
forces, but no big battle has taken place yet. It
is awful to think of these two great armies facing
each other, and of the terrific loss of life there
will be when the fighting really begins. I don't
know how the German Emperor dared take such
a responsibility.

The Austrian Ambassador has finally departed.
It seems the Austrian explanations were vague
when our Foreign Office asked if Austrian troops
were moving quickly to Alsace to reinforce the
Germans. War is not declared between the two
countries, but there is a diplomatic rupture. Both
Ambassadors in Paris and Vienna recalled. I
imagine Szecsen was glad to go. His position
cannot have been very agreeable these last days.
Mr Herrick takes over the Austrian interests.
He will have his hands full, as he already has the
Germans and all his own people. He is quite
equal to the task, is perfectly quiet and prudent,
and is winning golden opinions. America is lucky
to have had such a man here at this time.

It is extraordinary how the Germans have
managed to put everyone against them. I fancy
the sympathy for France in the United States
has been a disagreeable surprise for them.

I have no further news of Francis, merely his
first telegram from Octeville ; if he had been

26 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

moved I think he would have told us. Charlotte's
letters come pretty regularly. She writes they are
all well but a little short of provisions. I hope I
shall be able to get down to Mareuil for two days,
now that the mobilisation is nearly over.

Wednesday, \2th August.

Another very hot day ; still no fighting. I don't
know if the delay is good. It gives the French
more time to concentrate their forces, and also
for Russia to advance.

I made another attempt to get patterns this
morning, and finally succeeded. I went to the
principal office of the Croix Rouge and saw
D'Haussonville who did all I wanted, and sent
Henry Outrey (who is working at the Red Cross
until he is called to the colours) with me to the
"lingerie." There I found the Duchesse de
Trevise and some ladies whom I knew, and got
all sorts of patterns and measures, carrying off a
shirt which I promised to send back at once, as
they had very few. They told me they particularly
wanted old linen sheets for bandages and com-
presses, also new cotton sheets and pillow-cases.
H. had some old sheets and we sent them off
at once.

I went about 5 to the Embassy to pick up
Daisy Cameron, who has just taken charge of the
ouvroir for the American Ambulance. Baronne
Castelli — an American born — has put her apart-
ment in the Champs Elysees at the disposal of the
American Ambulance ; and Daisy is going to
organise her work-rooms. The Embassy gates

SETTLING DOWN 27

and doors were open. Quantities of people about
inside and outside. I waited in the gallery as
Daisy was still in the Committee-room. I saw
George Munroe and Fred Allen, both of whom
are working" hard at the relief fund to send back
Americans. Herman Harjes, too, I saw in the
distance. The bankers are doing all they can
to relieve the money pressure, and have a hard
time, as of course every one is short of funds.
The war came so suddenly.

George Munroe has his son at the front.

Daisy and I walked down-town late. Every-
thing quiet ; almost all the shops shut ; on many
of them a notice posted up : ' Fermee ; le propri£-
taire est sous les drapeaux." We went as far as
Colombin's, where we had a cup of tea, cakes, and
sandwiches as usual. There were quite a number
of people — almost all Americans. The caissiere
told us they had several tables taken every day
for luncheon. I was astonished to see cakes.
Our baker and others in our quarter for the last
four or five days have made no more cakes, nor
even rolls and croissants. We have pain de
menage, which is a little tough but more healthy,
I fancy, than finer bread. We don't mind it ; one
gets accustomed to everything.

11 Les journees passent et se ressemblent." The
heat is awful, but they say it is better for the
soldiers than rain or damp. Great heat dries up
the microbes. We have got our work-room
started, and it will be a great help to us to feel we
are doing something. Nothing but occupation of
some kind can keep up the courage of the women
who sit at home and wait. Mrs Mygatt and I

28 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

went to the Croix Rouge and had a long- wait at
the lingerie, carrying off a bundle of shirts, belts,
bandages of every possible shape.

I had a letter from Francis this morning from
Octeville. His regiment is doing garde-cote, and
he is secretaire-cycliste to the Colonel ; carrjes
despatches. He says he has a very good room
and bureau. As soon as the Mayor heard his
name, he put himself at his disposal and does all
he can to make him comfortable. They are on
a hill with a splendid view of the port and sea,
and delightful sea air. They have a very good
mess (the sous-officiers). A chef from Paris,
from the Cercle Volney, looks after them. He
says their journey from Caen was one long marche
triomphale ; they were showered with fruit, wine,
flowers, and cigarettes all along the route.

Paris, Saturday, i$th August,
Assumption Day.

It is generally such a gay day here; bells ring-
ing, churches open, everybody out in holiday attire.
This morning it is quiet enough. No one feels
very cheerful with this awful war-cloud hanging
over us, and the dread of what the morrow may
bring, when those two great armies meet. I
enclose a scathing sonnet to the Kaiser, published
by the Times.

I have been all the afternoon at the ouvroir.
We are beginning very modestly, but hope to get
more funds as we go on. We have two capable
women, Mrs G.'s maid and a dressmaker, out of
work now, who buys our stuff much cheaper than

THE BELGIANS 29

we can, and cuts out shirts and dresses ; also two
sewing-machines. There is quite a pile of flannel,
cotton, coarse linen, and old shirts on the tables.
I worked all the afternoon basting hems of shirt-
tails for the machine. I certainly have not done
anything of that kind for thirty-eight years, and
I was quite tired when I got home.

They asked me at the Croix Rouge what I
wanted to do : had I any aptitude medicale, or
any experience of nursing? I answered promptly :
" None whatever ; " knew nothing about sickness,
and hated a sick-room, but of course I would do
what I could, and offered to start an ouvroir with
my friends, which they accepted with joy.

We had an interesting woman this afternoon,
an Alsatian, a trained nurse, who will come and
work with us until she is ordered off to some hos-
pital ; she looks tired to death, has already been
nursing, but won't hear of resting ; also a Belgian
couple, who will work regularly with us. They
are so proud of their country, as they well may be,
and France should be eternally grateful to the
Belgians, as that first repulse of the Germans at
Liege has given them time to get up their troops,
and has also made a moral effect which has been
splendid for us. If we had had a first defeat at
the frontier (which we all expected), there might
have been a panic in the country. They read us
interesting letters from their parents who are in the
country in Belgium, about three miles from Liege.
Their three children are with them, all wildly
excited about the war and against the Germans.
They write that they will certainly have the
Germans at their place, if they advance at all into

30 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

the country, and that his father was exhorting the
children and servants to be perfectly civil to them
when they came. They can't help having them,
and any rudeness might make serious complica-
tions for them, and end in his being shot, as those
barbarians make short work of any who stand in
their way. What a wicked war in these days of
education and Christianity!

Charlie Forbes came to tea with us. Mrs
Mygatt gives us tea always, and the slices of
bread and butter made of the perfectly plain pain
de menage (which some of our pampered servants
don't eat in ordinary times) were very good.
Charlie was most amiable — let us try all our
shirts, hospital and convalescent, on him. We
were particularly asked to make the arm-holes
wide, and the sleeves loose. He is such a big
man that what went on easily over his coat was
quite large enough for any one.

One of the party read aloud the curious prophecy
of Madame de Thebes, that appeared in her
calendar at the beginning of this year, and An-
nunzio's splendid Ode pour la Resurrection Latine.
I wonder if Italy will move.

I went to see Mrs Herrick after leaving the
work-room, and happily found her alone, not
surrounded by her forty women of the American
Ambulance Committee. She says her Ambas-
sador is very well, very busy, and very tired,
but very pleased with the way in which all his
American friends have stood by him and helped
him.

Daisy Cameron came in before dinner, much
relieved at having had news of Mary, who is safe

SIR JOHN FRENCH IN PARIS 31

in Berlin with the Gerards at the Embassy. I
didn't go out this morning except for a few minutes
to the Croix Rouge, to ask if we must do anything
about putting their flag on our building, but I
found no one who could tell me. They are over-
whelmed with business, one hardly likes to ask a
question.

I went to the ouvroir about 2.30 and met
Olive Tiffany coming in. She is a capital worker ;
said she would do anything that was wanted, so
she was instantly given a pile of shirts and asked
to make buttonholes, three in each. They sug-
gested that I should sew on buttons, which I quite
refused to do. After all, people must work accord-
ing to their limitations, and I preferred basting
hems. I think I must have basted miles of shirt-
tails so far.

Comtesse de Franqueville (nee Lady Sophia
Palmer) came in at tea-time ; so pleased that
France and England were fighting together. She
had been standing in the crowd near the British
Embassy to see Sir John French arrive; said he
was most enthusiastically received, and looked
very well and soldierly in his tenue de campagne.
They are going to have ten thousand sheep in the
park of their Chateau de la Muette, just at the
entrance of the Bois ; and a large flock has just
been put on the race-course at Longchamp, cows
on the Auteuil course, and an immense enclosure
in the Bois, railed off for oxen. I suppose these
are necessary precautions, but at the present
moment we are feeling not the slightest incon-
venience from the state of siege. The markets are
supplied as usual, and no increase of prices. One

32 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

day chickens were dear — a very small one, frs. 14
—just double the ordinary cost. We declined it,
and I fancy everybody else did the same, as they
have returned now to their normal price.

Paris, Monday, i^th August.

We are still living our quiet life in a dead city.
News this morning of fresh French successes.
Germany repulsed on the Meuse, many drowned
in the river, and we hope it is true, and wish there
are many more Meuses and many more Germans
drowned in them — which is an awful state of mind
for a Christian woman to be in. But the sooner
the war is over and the more Germans disappear
from the face of the earth, the better for civilisation
and the whole of Europe.

I walked about the Trocadero and near the
Tour Eiffel this morning, and there one realises
that the situation is serious. There are cannon
and soldiers in the Trocadero grounds, and a
strong guard and mitrailleuses at the Tour Eiffel.
All the sentries with fixed bayonets and looking
very grim. I went as usual to the ouvroir, which
begins to look very businesslike. One of our
workers, a small dressmaker, had been applying
to various maids and small people she knew, and
had got a pile of fairly good linen sheets for one
franc apiece. Of course they ought to be given at
such a time, but every one is glad to earn a little
money. There are so many women and girls
thrown out of employment by all the big shops
shutting, and business generally stopped, that
there is great misery already, and the war not

RUMOURS OF NAVAL RATTLE 33

really begun. The wives and mothers of men
sous les drapeaux are being looked after by the
Government, but it is only private initiative that
can help the others.

It is pathetic to see the little midinettes, generally
so smiling and well-dressed, often with a little bunch
of violets on their coats, looking so sad and pale
and hungry. And one knows that they are hungry,
but they don't complain.

The Americans living in Paris are most
generous, but they all have to look first after their
own compatriots stranded here with no money and
no shelter— and have besides organised their ambu-
lance on a grand scale.

Our teas are rather amusing; every one con-
tributes something. Mme. del M., our Belgian
friend, brought a pot of strawberry jam to-day,
I a plain cake made at home, some one else a loaf
of English bread, which makes better tartines than
thick pain de menage. Every one else does the
same thing.

. Henry O., who is working at the War Office,
dines often with the Jean Sallandrouzes and brings
a ham or a round of cold beef with him. Palma
Ruspoli brought a rumour which she said, however,
was not confirmed at the Embassy, that there had
been an awful naval battle in the North Sea.
Eight British battleships sunk, twenty - eight
Germans, and a great number of the merchant
ships sunk. There is no mention of it in to-night's
papers.

I am writing late, 1 1 o'clock. The street is
perfectly quiet, not a sound nor a light ; I should
not think there was anybody left in the street

34 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

except on the entresol opposite, where we see a
light every night, which looks friendly. There are,
however, many people in town. Quite a number
of autos were running- up and down the Champs
Elysees yesterday when I came home at 7 o'clock.

Paris, Wednesday, igfk August

We lose almost the count of the days, they go
on so monotonously. We pore over the papers,
but they give so little news. The weather is en-
chanting, bright, beautiful summer days ; rather
cooler this morning. Report says that the
German Crown Prince charged with the Imperial
Guard at Dinant and was badly wounded, but it
was not confirmed in the official communique this
afternoon. The War Office issues a bulletin every
afternoon at 5 o'clock, and somebody always comes
in to tell us the last news.

Mr Herrick and Sir H. Austin Lee dined this
evening. Both are most interesting. Our repast
was frugal — war rations, soup, a piece of beef, salad,
a vegetable and a compote — not exactly an ambas-
sadorial banquet. Fruit is plentiful and cheap.
Mr Herrick said the young American army men
who were out here, either for the manoeuvres or
instruction in some of the French Corps d'Armee,
were astounded at the order and quickness with
which the mobilisation was carried out — also that
they had been very intelligent and useful in help-
ing him to handle the mass of Americans who con-
gregate every day at the Chancellerie, begging to
be sent home. The American Ambulance is going
splendidly ; they get all the money they want.

NEWS FROM MAREUIL 35

I had a long letter from Charlotte this evening,
the first in many days. Of course, being on the
line of the Est, she sees a great deal of the
movement of troops, and writes: "Tuesday, we
went to La Ferte-Milon to give the soldiers
flowers. They love it, and all the carriages are
covered with branches and flowers given to them.
The soldier Madeleine gave the bouquet to, kissed
her, then me, and then my mother on both cheeks.
I gave my bouquet to a nice little young soldier
who was quite touched by it, so much so that
when the train started, he called an employe" of
the station and asked him to give me ' de sa part
sa medaille de la Sainte Vierge,' a very pretty one
in silver. I think it was so sweet of that young
man, and so delicately done. I shall keep it as a
souvenir 'd'un inconnu.' I gave my cotisation
(subscription) for the drinks of the soldiers ; they
made a collection in the town to buy absinthe.
They put a litre of absinthe into thirty litres of
water, and the young women and girls of La
Ferte-Milon give it to the soldiers in their tin
cups when the train stops. As they passed every
twenty minutes for eight days, we were very busy.
The men are delighted to drink something cool.
Some of them had travelled twenty-four hours
in those horse-vans, poor creatures. One lot of
prisoners has already passed here, Uhlans.

' We have very little news from the war, the
Petit Journal being the only paper we receive.
It is quite difficult to get about, no trains, no
carriages, as all the horses have been taken, and
we have to have a laissez-passer every time we stir
out of Mareuil. We cannot even go on the Meaux

36 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

or Fleury roads. They are very severe because
of the railway-line, as espions have already tried
several times to blow up bridges and tunnels.

"We work hard for the Croix Rouge — shirts,
bandages, sheets, etc. I have organised a ' garderie
d'enfants ' to allow the mothers to go to the fields
for the harvest ; and we have in the courtyard
every day, from 8 to 10, and from i to 6, fifty or
sixty children. I assure you it is a piece of work,
and I hope it counts as charity. ' Monsieur le
Cur6' rings every night at 8 o'clock the special
prayers for time of war, and we all go. The boys
are flourishing — much excited when the trains
pass. I put the newspaper every day on the
garden wall, near the gate, so that people who
have no paper can read the news. Ever so many
have thanked me."

Paris, Friday, 21st August.

I went this morning to the service of the
English church for their naval and military forces
now engaged in war. It was very solemn, almost
all women, some oldish men. Two boy scouts
distributed the leaflets with the special forms.
Mr Cardew asked every one to think of the
sailors when singing the hymn " For those in
peril on the sea."

The papers are always interesting with all the
various letters and experiences of unfortunate
travellers — British or Americans trying to get
home. It is lucky that the French are a non-
travelling race. I don't know what would have
happened if four or five thousand French people
had been travelling in Germany or Switzerland.

POVERTY IN PARIS 37

Charlotte came up yesterday, looking- very well.
We went to the Croix Rouge to see if Comtesse
d'Haussonville would like to have an ambulance at
Crouy. They can offer one hundred beds with
their sheets and blankets in a big old chateau with
a large garden and terrace, but no staff except
some volunteer nurses, and no money to run it.
Mme. d'Haussonville told us at once that want of
funds was the great difficulty ; that they had been
offered quantities of houses and beds, but without
money to run the thing, they could not be
accepted. The President of the Croix Rouge, the
Marquis de Vogue, has just issued an appeal,
which is placarded everywhere, asking every one
to contribute what they can — money, clothes,
blankets, anything.

We were at the ouvroir all the afternoon, and
things are gradually getting into shape. But
again we are stopped by want of funds. We don't
want to work ourselves, but give work to hundreds
of women who are absolutely penniless, not only
soldiers' wives, but quantities of young women
and girls left with no work and no money. Nearly
all the big shops and business establishments are
closed. I saw two nice-looking girls this morning,
premieres at one of the big dressmakers of the rue
de la Paix, who told me they had just one franc
between them. It is always the same story with
that class in Paris. They spend all they earn on
their backs. Three or four of them club together
and have a good room, and they live au jour le
jour, putting nothing aside for illness or dark
days. In our rooms we could easily employ sixty,
perhaps more:, women, give them fr. 1.50 a day,

38 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

and one good meal. They could work all day,
making clothes for the sick, the wounded, and the
refugees — these last are no small item now in the
Paris population.

Charlotte carried off various patterns, as she
has also a work-room at Mareuil. She will surely
have many refugees as we are so near the Belgian
frontier. We stopped at one or two work-rooms
on our way up to the rue de la Pompe, to ask
about prices, meals, hours, etc., as all this sort of
work is new to us, and everywhere heard the same
story — the quantity of women begging for work.

Daisy Cameron came to dinner, and was most
amusing with the account of her work-room for
the American Ambulance. She has volunteered
as nurse, and I am sure she should be an excellent
nurse — she has seen so much illness and so many
operations in her own family.

Paris, Saturday, 22nd August.

Charlotte lunched with the Tiffanys at their
hotel. She left all her bundles, a fine collection,
with me, and I went to get her to take her to the
train ; I could hardly get in the cab, and I don't
know now how the two of us managed it ; but we
did. It looked strange to see that busy Gare
de l'Est almost deserted, entirely under military
control — soldiers on all the platforms. They were
much interested in all Charlotte's bundles, asked
her if she was going to the front, as she had on
the Red Cross badge.

Some of the empty carriages that have come
back from the frontier were rather amusing, with

APPEAL TO AMERICANS 39

all sorts of rough drawings in chalk on the
outside. Various heads of " Guillaume " with
enormous mustaches, and rather a pretty girl's
head on one — "ma gosse" (my girl, in village
patois). I stayed till the train started. I think
the two days in town rather cheered up Charlotte.
She saw a good many people, and heard more
news, such as it was. It is rather an austere life
at Mareuil in war-time, and she feels a certain
responsibility with the children and the people of
the village, who all come to her. If her mother
were not with her I should have to go to Mareuil
— and yet I cannot leave H. altogether. Charlotte
is very brave, but misses her husband so awfully
and has so little news.

I went straight to my ouvroir and worked all
the afternoon. Olive brought me an attractive
woman, one of the New York Times corre-
spondents. She interested herself at once in our
work, and between us we wrote an appeal to some
of the American papers, which she cabled over at
once. So many Americans, perfect strangers to
me, names I didn't know at all, wrote to me from
the west — Kentucky, Wisconsin, Arizona, about
my book on France — Chateau a?id Country Life
in France — saying they had read it with so much
interest, that I thought they might, perhaps, come
to our assistance. This is what I wrrote :

APPEAL

"So many Americans have seemed interested in what I
wrote of France and my life there in happier days, that I think
they may be inclined to help her in her hour of dire need.

D

40 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

We women of France must do something for the hundreds of
women who are left absolutely penniless, their sons and
husbands at the war, they without any resources — as almost
all the big shops and business establishments have closed — I,
with some of my friends, am organising a work-room where
we give fr. T.50 and one meal a day to any woman who
comes. They work all day, making garments for the sick and
wounded, for which we furnish the material. We have many
more applicants than we can employ, and are in desperate
need of funds. Can you help us ? "

I hope I shall get some money.

Paris, Monday, 24th August.

These are awful days. There is a terrific battle
going on in Belgium. Yesterday, one was ill
with apprehension ; the day was warm and trying ;
the very air seemed heavy with presentiments.
I went to the English church. The special prayers
for time of war bring it home to one. As on the
other day, two boy scouts were handing books
and the plate. I stayed in all the afternoon. We
had a great many visits — some of them most
depressing, the men more than the women. Such
rumours : that we were being badly beaten ; nothing
would prevent the Germans from entering Paris ;
the scum of the population would rise in a frenzy
if the fighting went on without any news ; that
the Government would go to Bordeaux ; that the
German Zeppelins would drop bombs all over
Paris and set fire to the city ; and though my own
common sense told me not to pay the slightest
attention to all the rumours, one can't keep being
a little impressed by them. It was a relief to have

PAINFUL SUSPENSE 41

one of the Dutch secretaries, Baron de G., come
to dinner quietly with us, who told us not to mind
any such reports ; that at his legation the report
was : " Situation grave but satisfactory."

While we were talking, all the windows open,
we heard cavalry passing, and rushed to the
balcony, as did every one else in the street, but it
was only a detachment of the Garde Republicaine,
which patrols Paris every night. All our nerves
are on edge, and yet one must be perfectly cool
and keep up the courage of the people. We didn't
hear any news at the ouvroir, but every one looks
grave, and all throw themselves upon the special
editions of the papers that come all day with
nothing in them.

The communications from the front are very
brief, and have become much more so as the
battle rages.

Paris, Wednesday, 26th August.

Still no news, and our days are exactly alike.
I had a letter from Francis this morning from
Octeville. He is very busy, but says the life is
monotonous. He had seen a convoy of German
prisoners arrive. They were received in perfect
silence — not a word, nor a sound. The General
Commanding at Cherbourg had given strict orders
to treat them with respect. They were soldiers,
doing their duty to their country, as we were to
ours. Francis talked later to one or two of them ;
said they were famished, and not at all enthusiastic
about the war.

I went to see Mine. Sallandrouze on my way
me She had come up for two days from

42 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

Mareuil ; looked exhausted. She had been five
hours on a journey which usually takes two.
They were fourteen in their compartment, and
a solid mass of people, with their valises and
bundles, standing- in the couloir. She would
like to come to Paris. They say there will cer-
tainly be bands of Uhlans all over our part of
the country, and there are wild rumours of auto-
mobiles blindes dashing at full speed through the
villages, shooting any one they meet. We are
only three hours from the frontier, and she can't
take the responsibility — would never forgive herself
if anything happened to the children.

All our minds are full of the brutalities of the
Germans in Belgium, who in one of the villages
shot a boy of seven years who aimed his toy gun
at them.

Our boys play about the garden all day with
their flags and guns, shouting "Vive l'armee,"
and "Vive la France." If they heard cavalry
passing on the road, they would certainly dash
out of the gates, and anything might happen.
The Germans would not hesitate to shoot down
two boys shouting "Vive la France." I think
they had better come up. I will try to go down
there on Saturday.

The new ministry which is announced this
morning, has been an excellent move. It is
certainly the moment to sink all political feeling,
and call upon the best men of all parties to come to
the front. I think it will give the country great
confidence, especially Millerand at the War Office.
The army, which criticised his first appointment to
the War Office some time ago, ended by liking

REFUGEES IN PARIS 43

him very much. Though a civilian, he under-
stood the French soldiers, and knew how to keep up
their military enthusiasm. The Radicals have done
much harm with their anti-military campaign.

Paris, Thursday, 27M August.

It was cool, a lovely morning. I went to the
bank with the Mygatts, to discuss our Relief
Fund — as Harjes will receive any money that is
sent. I rather demurred to the name : " Mme.
Waddington Relief-Fund." It seemed so very
personal. But the gentlemen said as I had made
a direct appeal in my own name, the money must
be sent to me. I shall be very grateful for any-
thing I get, as the misery is going to be awful —
not only the quantities of Frenchwomen without
work, but all the Belgian refugees. One of my
friends saw a lot of them the other day, all huddled
together in a court of the Chemin de Fer du Nord.
He said they looked exhausted, the women carry-
ing their babies, the men all old, well past middle-
age, carrying the bundles, with all sorts of things
in them — evidently put together in a hurry at the
last moment — pots, boots, some clothes, bird-
cages (one man had a saddle from which he
absolutely declined to be parted), perfectly useless
things. People were bringing food and wine to
them, milk for the babies, which they accepted
most gratefully. They didn't complain ; seemed
stunned by the appalling misfortune which had
come upon them so suddenly. Some of them
were perfectly prosperous farmers with large,
comfortable houses, plenty of beasts of all kinds.

44 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

The Germans took away the animals, burned the
houses ; they saw them in flames behind them
when they were flying for their lives. It is too
horrible to think of the misery that pretty,
prosperous little country is going through.

I am getting a little nervous about the children.
I am fairly brave, but can't help being impressed
with all I hear. Mareuil is directly on the line
from Meaux to Rheims, and a household of women
would be helpless against an invasion of such
barbarians.

Paris, Friday, *%th August.

Francis' birthday. We sent him a telegram.
Have heard nothing from him for some days.

I dined last night with H., an ex-Conseiller
General of the Oise. He asked me to come —
"pas un diner, une reunion de dames, en toilette
d'ambulance." Of course no one dresses in these
days. I put on my red cross medal over my
plain black dress, and walked over (it is only
two blocks off) in the rain, under an umbrella. I
found four or five men — two Conseillers d'Etat, an
ex-Prefet, one of the Directors of the Banque de
France, and a young woman, daughter of one of
the Conseillers, whose husband is at the front.
The Director of the Bank had just come back from
Rennes, where he had deposited a large amount
of gold — I dare not say how many millions — in
the bank. The youngest Conseiller d'Etat had
also just returned from a tourn^e, a mission he
had made in the north of France, with one of the
generals. He said that the condition of the men,
physically and morally, was excellent, and the

MONSIEUR POINCARE 45

food supply abundant and marvellously carried out.
They had their two meals a day, quite hot and good.
They all spoke most warmly of the ministry ;
said they were doing splendid work, and also of
Poincare ; say he is wonderful, very cool, knows
all about everything ; where each corps d'arm^e
is — that of course — and every regiment, and who
commands it ; has no doubt as to the final result,
but thinks France will lose half her army. It is
awful to think of the mournings — a whole genera-
tion wiped out. . . .

Paris, Sunday, $of/i August.

Still the same beautiful weather. When one
thinks of what France ought to be at this time,
with a splendid harvest — all the people in the
country, men, women, and children working in
the fields, coming in at night so pleased with their
day's work, it is terrible to feel that the country
is being devastated by the Germans. I was
miserable all day yesterday ; I had quite made up
my mind to go down to Mareuil for twenty-four
hours and bring up the children, but everybody
told me I mustn't go ; it would only complicate
things for them, make one more person in the
train ; so I sent a telegram to Charlotte, telling
her to come at once. Jean Sallandrouze sent one
to his mother, saying the same thing. He came
in just before dinner to say he had just had a
telegram from Mareuil, saying they would start
this morning, but would probably arrive late in
the evening, as there was "du retard dans le
service."

I went to the American church ; there were not

46 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

many people. One young woman, just in front
of me, was crying- almost all the time. I suppose,
like all the rest of us, she had some dear ones at
the front. I didn't go out again until late, and
then went with the Mygatts to the Bois de
Boulogne, which has been transformed into a
wholesale provision camp. The two race-courses,
Auteuil, Longchamp, filled with cows and oxen,
sheep at the Tir aux Pigeons, and quantities of
hay and food in great stacks. There were, as
usual on a Sunday afternoon, many people dining
al fresco on the grass — whole families, from grand-
mothers to babies, sitting on the grass and making
their evening meal ; but there were no games, no
tennis, no football, nor any gaiety. Every one
looked grave.

I stopped at the rue d'Artois to see if there was
any news of the children, but they hadn't come.
The Segurs dined with us. They had come to
Paris for his Conseil General, which is usually
held at Melun, but in these agitated days it was
judged more prudent to have it in Paris, and they
met in the Palais Bourbon (Chamber of Deputies).
They were both rather sad, having between them
eighteen nephews and grand-nephews at the front,
and no news of any. Segur is always so moderate
in all he says. He has no sympathy with the
Republic, but thinks the Government is doing
splendidly.

About 10 o'clock L. de R. came in and told
me that the Mareuil party had arrived well, but
exhausted, having left Mareuil at 7 in the morning,
and only arrived at Paris at 10 o'clock at night.
It was a great relief to me.

A TRYING JOURNEY 47

Paris, Monday, $ist August.

It has been again a very hot day, and I am
worn out to-night with heat and emotion. At
9.30, before I was dressed, Mme. Jean S. came
to see me, to say that they were all starting before
12 for Orleans in autos, en route for Tours. I
went straight over to the rue d'Artois where
Charlotte had gone to her mother's apartment.
Ours in the rue de la Pompe is shut up ; it would
not have been worth while to open it for one
night, and Mme. Sallandrouze could take them
in, and found them all exhausted, but so pleased
to be out of the fighting zone.

They were told Saturday evening that they
must leave at once. La Fert£-Milon, the place
next to us, was being evacue, and there were
reports of bodies of Uhlans at Laon. They all
worked hard Saturday night, hiding silver, valu-
ables, etc., and started at 7 Sunday morning.
When the train drew into the station from
Rheims, crowded with wounded and refugees,
they didn't want to take them at once. But the
chef de gare, who knows us well, insisted, and they
got in, scattered about the train — the two boys
and their nurse in a fourgon (baggage-wagon) with
some soldiers — the others in third-class carriages
—anywhere. They had long waits all along the
route, being shunted all the time, to make way
for military trains. At Meaux the Red Cross
ambulance was stationed at the gare, all the
women occupying themselves with the wounded,
and giving food and clothes to the refugees.
They gave the children's Nanna, who is an excel-

48 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

lent nurse, a bowl of water and a towel, and asked
her to wash some of the wounded men. The boys
were so tired that Charlotte, who is a Red Cross
herself, asked for a cup of milk for each of them.
The woman said to her : " We shouldn't give it,
Madame ; your children look strong and well.
We ought to keep the milk for the babies and
little ones." C. couldn't insist, but the woman
was evidently sorry for the two little boys and
gave one cup of milk for the two.

Charlotte thought she had better go with her
mother ; Mme. de R., who has a place near Tours,
would take them in for a week or ten days, and
she might then perhaps join Francis at Cherbourg.
I quite agreed, as I should not have liked to keep
them in Paris. They came here to say good-bye
to H., the boys much excited at all they had seen
and heard. "You will never see Mareuil again,
Danny ; those wicked Germans are going to burn
it." Perhaps, but I don't feel as if that was before
us, and was rather comforted with what Percy
Tiffany said — that Mareuil, being a stone house,
would be difficult and long to burn. A band of
Uhlans would not stay long enough.

I went back with them to the rue d'Artois, and
saw them all start at 12 punctually, in four large
autos. The chauffeurs said they would get them
to Orleans at 6. They couldn't bring any baggage,
and had a wonderful collection of bags and bundles.
I was delighted to see them go. Poor Mme. S.
looked quite white and exhausted. It had been a
great responsibility for her, as Francis left his wife
and children in her charge, and I couldn't leave
Henrietta.

GOVERNMENT MOVING TO BORDEAUX 49

Parts, Tuesday, is/ September.

It is again very warm to-day, and we hear all
sorts of rumours, that a great battle is going on at
La Fere, at St. Quentin. The war news is so
insignificant and I suppose it is right not to give
details ; but it is awful to think of battles going on,
and not to know where any one is.

I was all the afternoon at the ouvroir. We are
sending off a pile of shirts and bandages to Meudon,
where Mme. Marchand has the direction of an
ambulance. Our Belgian friends are awfully down.
No news of their children ; many of their friends'
chateaux burned, and probably their own. They
always bring bad news ; reduced Mme. G.'s maid
to tears, saying that Sedan (her town) was burned,
also Mezieres. I tried to reason with her, as it is
not possible that something would not have filtered
through the lines if two such important places had
been destroyed.

Palma M. came as usual to work with us, and
told us the Government was leaving that evening
for Bordeaux, all the Diplomatic Corps going with
them. I am afraid it will frighten people. Their
Ambassador, Tittoni, goes. He need not, as he
is not representing a puissance belligerante, but
he prefers to go and Ruspoli remains. Palma will
stay with him.

We walked, quite a band of us, the Mygatts
and Olive Tiffany, down the Boulevard Hauss-
mann, as far as Potin's, to see what was going on.
Just as we got to the place we heard two or three
loud explosions, then several rifle-shots. Every-
body rushed out, and we saw a German aeroplane

50 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

with German flags disappearing- over the barracks
of La P^piniere. There was great excitement in
the streets, or rather curiosity, but no one seemed
at all nervous. A policeman told us they had
thrown their bombs on the Gare St Lazare, but
not much harm was done — one or two people hurt,
no one killed. It is a curious sensation, all the
same, to be walking about a quiet city in the
waning evening light, with the possibility of a
bomb falling on your head. I must confess it
made me a little nervous. This was the first one
I had really seen and heard. They have been
coming for several days.

After dinner the Ambassador and Mrs Herrick
came to see us, on their way to the station to say
good-bye to their colleagues who are starting at
10 o'clock for Bordeaux. The President left this
afternoon by automobile. Mr Herrick says the
situation is grave, but he doesn't think the Germans
will get into Paris. He intends to remain and see
the end of the war.

Paris, Wednesday, 2nd September.

I went to the Red Cross this morning, but could
not find Outrey. I wanted to ask him what he
thought about our going away. It is so difficult
to know where to go. There doesn't seem to be
any room anywhere. Orleans, Bordeaux, Caen
crowded — the PreTet of Calvados has put an
official communication in the paper from Caen,
saying that there is literally not a bed to be had
at Caen. People are sleeping at the station, and
in the courts of some of the public buildings.
Marie suggests that we should go to Les Aulneaux,

THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE 51

a small hamlet in the department of La Sarthe —
hardly a village, though it has got a mayor —
where her daughter Fernande is schoolmistress
and adjointe to the mayor. She has a nice
house with a big court and garden, and two
rooms, where she could make us very com-
fortable— about four hours from Paris. I talked
it over with H., who does not want to leave
Paris.

I had a line from Charlotte, from Tours. They
made their journey very easily to Orleans, arriving
before 6. But their night was trying. No rooms
in any of the hotels, nor yet chez l'habitant (the
peasant or workman). They finally got a small
room in a hotel, where Mme. Sallandrouze, Char-
lotte, and Madeleine slept. The jeune menage
(Jean's) in a dressing-room. Maggie (the English
nurse) with the two boys, and three Sallandrouze
servants, slept in one room, on mattresses on the
floor, with ten other people — the boys, of course,
enjoying it madly. Everything a delightful novelty.
Frank said to Henrietta on Monday: "It's such
fun to be travelling in a fourgon (baggage-wagon)
with soldiers ; you would like it." They had got
to Tours, and C. was leaving at once with the
children for Cherbourg, to be with Francis. If
only he can stay there, but they are moving
Territorials to the front.

I went with Mr Herrick in the afternoon
to the American Ambulance. All the arrange-
ments are perfect, large, high rooms and cor-
ridors, and wide courts. I should think there
was almost too much space. The work will
be heavy on the nurses — all American and

52 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

British, and all voluntary. We went all over
the building-, wards, operating" -rooms, lingerie,
kitchen. There were no wounded yet, and they
won't have any until the fighting near Paris
begins. I wanted a model of a sort of loose,
sleeveless flannel jacket I saw at the lingerie. It
looked so comfortable for men sitting up in their
beds ; they only had one, and would have lent it
to me, but the Ambassadress said she would send
me one from the rectory, where they sew every
afternoon.

I found the ouvroir very blue. The Mygatts
think they must go. He has business in America,
and is afraid he might not get out of Paris if he
remained much longer. Every day the papers say
it is the last day that automobiles can get out of
Paris — but I think one could always get a pass.
They don't want to leave us, but I don't think H.
can undertake a long journey either in an auto or
in a crowded train. Mygatt had found a man
with a camion (a dray) of one horse, which would
take him, his family, and his baggage out of Paris.
They have their auto and have found a good
chauffeur, very well recommended. But they must
have a special permit to take the auto out of Paris.
They quite saw that it would be impossible for H.
to go any distance in an ordinary cart ; and as we
decided it was out of the question for us, they said
they would propose it to the Tiffanys. He, too,
has business, and wants to get out of Paris. H.
and I talked it over after dinner without arriving
at any conclusion. The Tiffanys came in the
evening to say they were going — so our friends
seem deserting us.

GERMANS ADVANCING 53

At 10 o'clock a line came to me from the
Embassy, telling Mygatt the Ambassador would
see him at 9 the next morning. He had written
to the Ambassador to ask if he could get the pass
for him, so I sent it to him at once.

Paris, Thursday, $rd Septeniber.

The news doesn't seem very good this morning".
There are reports that the Germans have blown
up the Pontoise bridge over the Seine, and that
we have done the same at Sevres. I don't feel
very happy, though in my heart I don't believe the
Germans will come into Paris ; but a cannonade
near, with possible shells falling about promiscu-
ously, wouldn't make Paris a very pleasant place
to stay in. While I was hesitating", Henry
Outreycame in with a man from the Croix Rouge,
who had helped a good many people to get away,
and who strongly advised our going — Henry, too.
He would take our tickets and places in the last
special train that leaves to-morrow. I consulted
H., who didn't want to go at all, was not in the
least nervous, and dreaded the journey ; but I was
uncomfortable, and we decided to start to-morrow
morning. Marie had written and telegraphed to
her daughter that we might perhaps come. We
couldn't take any baggage — merely bags and
bundles ; but the man said he would send our
trunks on by Grande Vitesse, with the Red Cross
labels, which always pass first.

We were very busy all the afternoon, making
our preparations. We only packed two small
trunks as wc did not think wc would need much

54 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

in the way of toilettes at Les Aulneaux ; but there
were things to be put away in the apartment.
We leave no one in it, but the Ambassador will
have a notice put on the door, saying- it is
inhabited by Americans, and the Concierge has
also a paper to show. That is another of the
many small things Mr Herrick has done to help
such of his compatriots as were obliged to stay in
Paris. All property owned by or let to Americans
has been marked. The only thing he couldn't do
was to put such marks on people walking about
the streets. We must all take our chance with
bombs.

About 5 o'clock I walked over to the ouvroir in
the Boulevard Haussmann, stopping a moment at
the Church of St Philippe, where there are always
women kneeling at the little chapels. The poor
ouvroir looked quite deserted, but there were piles
of shirts, calecons, and bandages ready to be sent
off. I gave the woman in charge directions where
to send them. She has some money in hand, and
will go on with her work until I come back — I
hope in about three weeks. Mme. Mygatt must,
of course, be longer away, as she is going to
America.

As I walked home the streets were full of
people looking out for the German aeroplanes,
but none had appeared — either the Ambassador's
remonstrances to the Government at home, asking
them to protest at Berlin against such traitorous
modes of warfare, or else the sight of the French
armed aeroplanes had frightened them. The
crowd wasn't at all nervous, remarking cheerfully :
"Ah, l'Allemand ne vient pas ce soir ; on l'aurait

LEAVING PARIS 55

bien recu pourtant ! " (" The German isn't coming
this evening ; anyhow he would have had a good
reception ! ")

After dinner Outrey came, and we walked down
to the Embassy, where there were a good many
people coming and going — among others, Mr
Bacon,1 just arrived. He belongs to the Franco-
American Committee, and has come over to help
us in whatever way he can. The Ambassador
said there was no later news. He thought we had
better leave Paris. We had nothing particular to
keep us here. If there should be a long siege we
\\ ( >uld be weeks without hearing from Francis, and
might be greatly inconvenienced by want of proper
food. All the old stories of the horrors that
people ate in '70 came back to me — cats, rats,
and glad to have them !

It was perfectly dark when we came out of the
Embassy, not a light anywhere, only the search-
lights from the Tour Eiffel and the Automobile
Club, throwing a weird, yellow gleam for an
instant over everything. Our street absolutely
black. We groped our way along.

Paris, Friday, 4//1 September.

We are quite ready — start at 12.30. I wonder
what sort of a Paris we shall find when we get
Lack — and I also wonder if we are right to go.
There is every conceivable rumour in the air.
Germans ;it St Germain — Paris fortifications
weak on that side. Paris population discouraged

1 Whu was Ambassador jusi before Mr llcrrick.

E

56 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

— yet in my heart I don't believe the Germans
will get into Paris.

Les Aulneaux, Dimanche, 6 septembre.

I leave the mairie paper, Dear ; by that you
may see where we are. It all seems an awful
dream. The sudden decision to leave Paris (I
don't know now if we did right), and the long,
tiring journey ; the emotion at meeting soldiers all
along the route — these going to the front, cheering
and laughing, promising German bullets and
sword-belts to the women who crowded around
the trains ; the young recruits, just twenty, of
the class of this year called out, some of them
looking mere children — they too, gay, with one
or two exceptions — but I must begin at the
beginning.

H. did not want to leave Paris — dreaded the
journey, and is convinced the Germans will never
get into Paris (and I think she is right), nor ever
near enough to make life difficult ; however, all
our friends were going. Every day we saw the
official order that after Friday no one could leave
Paris by auto, nor perhaps by train. Henry
Outrey, who is working with one of the generals
in Paris, and also at the Croix Rouge, advised us
to leave when we could ; he would arrange for
tickets, places, etc.

I can't say our lives had changed very much
since the declaration of war. The market was
just as good ; we could get everything we wanted
and no dearer than in ordinary times, in fact,
fruit and certain vegetables cheaper, as the
maraichers (market-gardeners) wanted to sell at

GETTING PERMISSION TO GO 57

any price. We had made no extra provisions.
The street was gloomy at nights ; no more lights,
and hardly any one in the houses, we the only
people left in ours. It was rather sad looking
down from our balcony on the perfectly dark street
— empty, no sounds of life. I haven't heard a
laugh for weeks, and it was a relief to hear the
hoofs of the horses of the cavalry patrol which
passes every night in the rue Francois Ipr. I went
on Wednesday to ask xA.mbassador Herrick for
a pass for a friend of mine, Mr M., who wanted
to get his auto out of Paris, and he advised us to
go to the Invalides, where the military governor
of Paris lives, and show his card. M. came for
me, and it was most interesting to see the Esplanade
des Invalides ; at one end rows of autos drawn
up which are being requisitioned for the army,
quantities of officers in every direction looking
very busy, but perfectly cheerful, notwithstanding
the reports that we had heard in the morning
that the Pontoise bridge was blown up by
the Germans, and the Sevres bridge by the
French.

We waited some time in spite of the
Ambassador's letter and my Red Cross badge,
but were finally received by the officer in charge.
We explained that we wished to go out of Paris
that afternoon in the auto. "In what direction,
Madame?' "Chartres." "Then go as quickly
as possible." "You really think that?" "I have
no doubt of it, and beg you will go at once."

Mr M. had already made his arrangements to
leave He had chartered two drays of one horse
each for himself and his family (they were four)

58 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

and his luggage, from which he would not separate
himself, as he was going" to America and hoped to
get down to the coast eventually. He wanted us
to take his auto, but it had not been going" very
well lately. He had a new chauffeur whom he
knew nothing about. I didn't dare venture, we
three women alone, H. hardly walking; so, most
reluctantly, they started without us. We decided
to leave Friday at 2 o'clock by special train for
this place, stopping the night at Conches or
Laigle. We had no baggage, only what we could
carry. H. was very plucky — didn't want to leave
Paris — but I was nervous. I went out to our
ouvroir late Thursday afternoon to give certain
last instructions to the woman Mrs M., whom I
left in charge, telling her to send the garments
which were already made to one or two ambulances
where we had promised them, and left her some
money to go on with the work. After dinner I
went to the Embassy to say good-bye to the
Herricks in case they should leave before we got
back. There were a good many people there
coming and going. Mr Bacon just arrived to
give us what help he can in our dark days. Mr
Warren remains too, having sent his wife and
children home. The Americans have all been so
sympathetic to France since the war began. It
must be a most disagreeable surprise for the
Kaiser, one of the many, I think, that are in
store for him. Mr Herrick is wonderful, quite
cool, thinking of everybody, and not sparing him-
self in the least, working as hard and as late
as any of his secretaries. Neither French nor
Americans will ever forget what he has done here,

DIFFICULTIES OF TRAVELLING 59

and, of course, his remaining in Paris has reassured
people very much.

We started Friday at 1 2 o'clock from the
house (the train started at 2.15 from the Gare
St Lazare). Henry came to take us to the station,
and I really think our bays and valises were very
creditable for ladies accustomed to travel with
everything they wanted. We took as little as
possible, but, of course, had to provide for the
possibility of never seeing- our trunks again.
They — two small ones — were sent by Grande
Vitesse, with Red Cross labels. The Gare St
Lazare was a curiosity, crowded with people,
Quantities of children, and the most remark-
able collection of bags, bundles, and household
goods possible. We found already six people
in our carriage and a child. Marie was obliged
to take a place in a second-class carriage (she
had a first-class ticket) to be near us. It is a
long pull down the platform to the train. H.
was very nervous, but got along pretty well,
sitting clown whenever she could. We hoped
to get to Laigle or Conches about 7 o'clock ;
telegraphed for rooms at both places. Henry
recommended us warmly to the people who were
already in the carriage. There were two parties —
father, mother, and son going to Brittany, and a
young mother, child, and two grandparents bound
for Houlgate.

We started at 2.15, having been in the train
since 12.30, and remained in it till 8 the next
morning. It was an awful journey. We changed
our direction many times, backing, turning (at
one time we went back nearly to Versailles), and

60 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

waiting at the stations to let pass the military
trains. We met a great many — sometimes soldiers
going to the front, sometimes wounded, and always
refugees at all the stations, and we stopped at
every one. There were crowds of people sitting- on
their valises, or on the floor, clamouring for seats.
I was afraid we would have many more people
standing (all the seats were taken) in our compart-
ment, but we managed to keep them out. At
Mantes we crossed a train of English troops, and
very well and fresh and young they looked in their
khakis. They fraternised instantly with the
French soldiers, and ran across the track to speak
to us. I asked them where they came from : from
the frontier, on their way to Rouen for provisions
and ammunition. There were great cheers and
waving of caps and handkerchiefs when the train
started. As the evening went on it became most
evident that we could not get to Conches or Laigle
at any possible hour, and we all made up our minds
that we must stay the night in the train. The
chefs de gare looked anxious and overworked
wherever we stopped, but were perfectly good-
humoured, as was everybody, answering civilly
and as well as they could all the questions. All
the gares were occupied by soldiers, and the
line guarded. We got to Dreux about i in the
morning, and backed and stopped and were
shunted for more than an hour. Some distracted
English pursued the chef de gare with questions.
" Monsieur, quand arriverons-nous a Caen ! " " Ah,
Madame, si vous pouviez me le dire!" They told
us the town was full of people, no room anywhere,
people sleeping in the gare and outside on the

A TRYING NIGHT JOURNEY 61

platforms. The station was as animated as if it
were i o'clock in the afternoon. Everybody got
out, even the twenty-months-old baby, who played
about and was wide-awake and perfectly good.
Happily it was a beautiful, warm summer night,
with a full golden September moon, the harvest
moon. That makes me think of one of the
numerous prophecies which encourage the people
in these awful days :

' Les hommes commenceront la moisson, les
femmes la finiront ; les femmes commenceront
les vendanges, les hommes les finiront." ("The
men will begin the harvest, the women will finish
it ; the women will begin the vintage, the men will
finish it.")

They are getting in the harvest quickly. All
along the route women and children are working
in the fields. The weather is so beautiful, warm
and dry and bright, that they can work long hours
and not have too much time to think of the
mournings that surely are coming to some of
them.

We got through our night well. The baby was
perfectly good, slept all night in its grandmother's
arms. She could hardly move her arm in the
morning. The poor woman was so warmly
dressed she was most uncomfortable. Like all
the rest of us, she too had started suddenly and
could take no baggage, so she had two extra
petticoats and another cloth skirt under her
ordinary dress and petticoat ; she said the weight
was awful. Everybody shared whatever they had,
water, biscuits, chocolate, but none of us were
hungry. At Evreux, where we waited a long

62 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

time, a train went off with soldiers to the front,
all singing the "Marseillaise," and laughing and
cheering. Some of the Red Cross nurses were
on the quai, but there were no wounded while we
were there. They told us a train of wounded
had passed in the night. H. was as plucky
as possible ; I was worried to death about her.
She is kept so carefully and watched over so at
home that I didn't see how she could stand all
those hours sitting bolt upright in the carriage,
but she did, and is none the worse for it.

We got to Laigle at 9 Saturday morning ;
walked over to the hotel opposite the gare and got
a nice clean room with hot water, where we could
arrange ourselves a little. We had very good
cafe au lait and pain de menage on the terrace,
with soldiers, refugees, and people leaving Paris.
Everybody talked to everybody, but no one knew
any more of the war than we did. We left H.
sitting on a very hard stone bench with her
knitting, and Marie and I went for a stroll. It is
a pretty little town with a fine market-place, and
a modern chateau standing in a wood at the top.
In the eleventh century there was a fine chateau-
fort built by the first Marquis de Laigle, which
was destroyed by the English in 1419- This one
is built on the site of the old one. The park has
been cut up, but some of the old trees remain and
are splendid, and we had charming glimpses of the
river in the distance. There are handsome,
coloured-glass windows in the church of St
Martin. We didn't see many soldiers, though
they told us they had four to five hundred wounded,
but we met many Belgian refugees, looking so sad

WAR RATIONS 63

and weary, with a pathetic, half-dazed expression
in their blue eyes. They try to give both men
and women work in the fields.

While we were at the gare after breakfast,
trying to get some information about our train, we
heard the drum, the generate, which means
something serious. In an instant the little place
was black with people. All one's nerves are on
edge, and we saw instantly bands of Uhlans in the
distance. However, the announcement was not
tragic, though significant : " Defense de porter le
pain dans la ville." ("Carrying bread in the city
forbidden.") It tells that one is put upon war
rations and everybody must go and get his bread,
which, in the big cities, means standing for hours
in the crowd at the baker's door.

We started at 4 for Mortagne, where, in ordinary
times, one arrives in two hours, but we only got
there at 8. We were told we could get good
accommodation there for the night. Again a
great crowd at the station — whole families of
women and children, and travellers sitting on
their bags ; military trains and long provision and
forage trains passing in rapid succession, every-
thing making way for them. It is curious to
travel when the country is under martial law.
Most of the employees of the railways are with
the army, their places taken by soldiers who
guard the stations. We had a number of young
recruits on board — the class of 191 4, which,
properly, should only have been called to the
colours this October. At all the stations we picked
up others, their fathers and mothers and families
generally coming to wish them good-bye and good

64 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

luck, all the boys as gay and lively as if they
were going- off to a country fair ; all manner of
jokes about "Guillaume" and promises to bring
back buttons and cartouches from Germany. One
young fellow came into our compartment. He
looked refined and delicate (I shouldn't think
he could stand much hard work), of good birth
and manners, and evidently didn't care for the
rough jokes of his companions. He told us he was
just twenty, a Parisian, only child of his parents,
had nine first cousins in the war. One saw he
was accustomed to the good things of the world.
He made a very good meal from a nice basket he
had with him, winding up with bonbons and a
large piece of cake. He helped us to take down
our bags when we arrived at Mortagne and looked
perfectly miserable when we shook hands and
hoped he would get along all right. Poor child !
I am sure he cried a little when he was alone in
the carriage. If we think twenty is young-, what
must the German mothers feel whose sons are
called out at sixteen ?

There were just the same scenes when we
arrived at Mortagne — people everywhere, not a
room to be had at any hotel or any house in the
town. I must confess to a moment of profound
discouragement when Marie and one of the
soldier-porters went off to see what they could
find. H. and I remained at the station, she seated
on a baggage-truck in the middle of the bag's.
We waited some time, nobody reappearing-, and
I saw the moment when I must ask the chef de
gare to let us sleep in a first-class carriage in the
station. When they finally came back, Marie

AT MORTAGNE 65

and the two men, they said there was nothing to
be had in the town, but the men knew a lady —
une brave dame — who kept a small pension for the
railway employees ; they thought she could take us
in, but it was at a little distance from the town.

Then came the difficulty of transporting H.
There were no carriages of any kind ; she couldn't
walk. It was late, 9.30; perfectly dark; a "petit
bout de chemin" might mean anything, from one
kilometre to three. However, somebody had a
brilliant idea. The men said they would get
another porter who would carry our baggage, and
they would wheel H. on the truck. She didn't
like it much, poor dear, but they promised to go
carefully, so we started, one porter in front, carrying
a lantern, another alongside with all our bags,
the third wheeling the truck, Marie and I on each
side, so that H. couldn't fall off. It was a wonder-
ful procession. We crossed the track, followed
the road for a short time, and then began to go
down a steep, rough path, the man asking both
me and Marie to hold the truck back. It was
such a ridiculous plight that we couldn't take it
tragically, but I was thankful when we stopped.

At the end of the path we came to a garden and
a nice house with open windows and lights which
looked friendly. A nice-looking, gray-haired
woman, attired in a black-and-white dressing-
gown, opened the door and showed us into a small
room where a man was supping. She said she
could only give us one little room, as her best one
was given to two wounded soldiers she had taken
in, but she would give us two clean beds, and find
sumething — a mattress on the floor perhaps — for

GG FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

the maid, and would give us something" to eat.
We had a good omelet, bread and butter and cider,
and talked to the man, who was an inspector of
telegraphs. The poor old lady was very worried
at the very little she could give us, but Marie
reassured her, and after hearing a great noise of
moving furniture over our heads she reappeared
with nice clean linen sheets, and Marie went
upstairs with her to help make the beds. We
consulted the porter who wheeled H. down about
the way of getting to Le Mele the next day (one
train was at 4.30 in the morning, another at 9 at
night, arriving Heaven knows when). He advised
taking an auto ; knew the patron of one very
well ; would go at once and ask him if he would
take us direct to Les Aulneaux, and would come
back with the answer. He returned before we
went upstairs, saying the man would come for
us the next morning at 10 o'clock.

I was so tired I was asleep, sitting up in a
straight-backed chair. H. and I had a very nice
clean room, a lovely garden smell coming in from
the open window, and not a sound except trains
moving all night. We slept perfectly well. Marie
had a mattress on two chairs in the corridor just
outside our room, with her dog, a wise little fox-
terrier, to take care of her. I was up early and
had very good cafe au lait, a fresh eggf and bread
and butter, and talked a little to the man of the
telegraph, who was most hopeful about the war —
said wherever he went in any class, there was the
same spirit of dogged resistance to the Germans ;
they would fight to the last man and woman.

When he had gone the old lady appeared with

WOUNDED SOLDIERS 67

many apologies for the poor accommodation she
had given us ; she would like to present her
two blesses to us; so as soon as H. appeared
she brought them — two fine, good-looking young
fellows, fantassins (infantry), about twenty-six
and thirty ; one married just six months ago.
They had been wounded in the Ardennes, not very
badly, each in the arm, and were dying to go
back. The younger one can soon go ; the other's
case was more serious. They had just come from
the hospital at Rheims (which is near Mareuil),
as the hospital had been evacuated. We asked
them if they had plenty to eat when they were
fighting. They said always plenty and very
good, and wherever they passed on their way
back everybody was good to them, bringing them
wine, cigarettes, flowers. They told us a funny
story about one of their comrades here, in one of
the Algerian regiments. He appeared after the
fight slightly wounded, but with a very good
bicycle, explaining in his funny French: " Moi
tue quatre Prussiens, puis pris bicyclette." He
was in great request with his bicyclette as he got
better. He had been wounded in the head ;
'petite chose," he said, but was able to go about
the country and do errands. I walked about the
garden while we were waiting for the auto, and
when I saw by daylight the steep, stony path we
had taken last night I really wondered how II .
and her truck ever got down and how she ever
stayed on it.

The auto with the patron himself driving came
at 10 o'clock and we went first to the town to
lay in some provisions. Fernande had not an-

68 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

swered any of her mother's letters, and this is
such an out-of-the-way place that it would not
have been safe to arrive without certain pre-
cautions. The main street was full of soldiers ;
there are six hundred wounded and walking- about
with arms in slings and bandaged legs and heads,
all most cheerful. We met the two of our house,
who waved to us in the most friendly fashion.
We had a charming drive, about an hour to
this little place, through lovely country- — all green
fields, hedges, and fine trees ; few villages ; almost
all farms and grazing country — cows, horses, and
colts in the fields. We arrived about 11.30 just
as the congregation was coming out of church,
and you can imagine .the sensation we made in
the auto, crammed with bags and parcels of every
description. Fernande was quite bewildered, as
she had received none of her mother's letters,
and three extra people in a small house is a serious
thing.

Les Aulneaux, Monday, >jth September.

It is an enchanting summer day. We all seem
living in a dream. Fernande is the daughter of
H.'s Marie, who has been with her for over
nineteen years. She is a schoolmistress here
and is adjointe l to the maire, and lives in the
mairie. It is a very nice house, with three big
rooms, a courtyard, and a garden, and a high airy
class-room which we used as a salon. All day
yesterday they were arranging two rooms for us.
Everybody in the village, from the cure, who lent

1 Assistant.

LES AULNEAUX 69

a fauteuil, to the mayor, who lent a bed, contrib-
uting something. A farmer's wife brought a
bottle of fresh milk, and everybody gave a helping
hand. Fernande went to the nearest big town,
Mamers, yesterday with a long list — two straw
armchairs, portemanteaux to hang up our skirts
and hats (if ever we see our trunks again and
have anything to hang up), and some stuff t<>
cover tables (boxes ! standing up on one end),
etc. In all my experiences, which have been
many and varied, I have never lived before in
two rooms in a mairie, but I think we shall be
perfectly comfortable and so quiet. There isn't
a sound, except the angelus, which rings twice a
day, and makes us stop for a moment in what
we are doing to think, and pray for all our men in
the thick of the fight.

Les Aulneaux, Wednesday % g?/i September.

It is a most primitive little hamlet, about
fourteen houses, a church, mairie, and schoolhouse,
one shop, just off the highroad to Mamers, the big
town of the neighbourhood, about ten kilometres
away, almost hidden on the great stretches of
fields and orchards which open out in all direc-
tions. It is a great grazing country; there are
plenty of cows, horses, and long-legged colts in
all the fields, and even the smallest farmer has
eight or ten beasts. They sell the horses very
well — one thousand live hundred or two thousand
francs — which makes them a very good income,
independent of what the farm brings. Now, of
course, there are no men anywhere. The women
and old men do all the work.

70 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

I went to see the cure this afternoon. He has
a nice house with a big- garden and orchard next
the church. He opened the door for me and
asked me to come in — into the kitchen, where a
bright wood-fire was burning" and a nice-looking
woman sitting sewing at the window, whom he
introduced as his aunt. He is tall, slight, a
gentleman in manner ; had on an old soutane,
with a gardener's blue apron over it. He excused
himself for receiving me in such dress, but he was
working in his garden. I sat there about ten
minutes telling him all I knew, which wasn't
much, but my news from Paris was more recent
than anything he had heard. I asked him if
I might play on the harmonium ; he said as much
as I liked, but he was afraid a Parisienne would
not find it very good. It had been seventeen
years in the church and a good deal knocked
about by people who did not know how to use it.
I thanked him for the fauteuil, and he asked me if
I would like to have a sofa ; he had one in his
salon, which we went to see, but I don't think I
shall indulge in such a luxury as a red velvet sofa
in my room. Another time he will show me his
house and garden and orchard. The house looks
large and roomy. It seems he has four very good
rooms upstairs which he would let, but there is
no furniture ; we would have to hire it from
Mamers, which wouldn't be worth while if we
only stay to the end of the month, which I hope.
Besides, we should be less free staying at the
Presbytere. Here we are perfectly comfortable
with three women to look after us — Marie,
Fernande, and a cousin from Belfort — an In-

COUNTRY LIFE 71

spectrice d'Ecoles, such a nice woman, obliged
to leave Belfort, which was threatened at one time
— her husband with the army. However, I don't
think the Germans will tackle Belfort this time.
They know quite well how strongly it is fortified,
and they need all their troops to stand the desperate
resistance they will meet before Paris. We talked
a little, of course, of the state of France and how
this awful war had been sprung upon her, the cure
saying she deserved it as a chastisement for the
wickedness and immorality of the country. I
didn't pursue that conversation, as it seems hard
to visit the iniquities of the big- towns which have
always existed upon the thousands of brave,
honest men, good husbands and fathers, leaving
all they have in the world and fighting bravely
and cheerfully for their country.

Les Aulneaux, Friday, nth September.

We are settling down to our life in this quiet
little corner of France. If only we had more com-
munication with Paris and the rest of France. I
get a walk every morning and already know all
the village. I stopped to talk to a nice-looking
girl the other day who had a baby in her arms, its
father, her brother, at the front. She invited me to
me in and I found a nice, clean peasant's house ;
her father and mother very respectable, speaking
quite intelligibly. Sometimes their French — not
exactly a patois, but with a curious accent — is
hard to understand. They knew all about us;
had seen us arrive at the schoolhouse in the auto-
mobile, and were most curious for news from Paris.

l-

72 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

They offered me a drink — wine, milk, or cider —
but I excused myself on the plea of its being early
in the morning. The country is lovely, like walk-
ing through an English park ; no fences anywhere ;
green banks, high hedges, and splendid pasture-
fields. I don't see much cultivation ; I fancy horses
and farm products are the principal resources. H.
and I go every day about 6 o'clock to the church,
which we have to ourselves, and have arranged a
little service. I play and sing some hymns or bits
of Beethoven. The harmonium isn't bad, only I
have so little the habit of playing an organ that I
forget the pedals sometimes, and then the music
stops with a sort of wheeze. I always finish with
the evening hymn: "Sun of my soul, Thou
Saviour dear," "God save the King," and the
Russian hymn. I don't dare play the "Marseillaise"
in the church. It would upset the cure dreadfully,
and yet it is too bad not to play sometimes for our
soldiers. The next time any one goes to Mamers
I will ask them to bring me back the famous marche
of " Sambre et Meuse," which our troops love to
march to.

We had a good mail this morning : letters a
little old, and papers the second day from Paris ;
also a telegram from Charlotte, from Cherbourg,
where she has joined Francis. She is trying to
find a small house there — says the boys are highly
excited seeing their father in uniform. The war
news is good, the Germans retreating. For the
moment they seem to have given up their march
on Paris ; I wonder why.

THE RUSSIANS IN ENGLAND ! 73

Les Aulneaux, Sunday, \ith September*

Yesterday was rather a wild day, raining and
blowing. However, I got out between the showers.
Still nothing of our trunks, which were sent off two
days after us (just a week ago). We manage
pretty well. Our next-door neighbour washes
our linen, and our serge dresses hold out. We
each had an extra blouse in our bags. We hear
all sorts of reports. In a letter to-day from Anne
Morgan, written from her convent in England,
she says : " The great event in our quiet lives has
been the passing of the Cosaques at our little
station at Norton Bridge. I am sorry I could not
go and see them ; all the countryside was much
excited." They are a wild lot, particularly the red
Cosaques. They are dressed in red, have long red
lances, and ride small, red bay horses. We saw
them in Moscow at the coronation of Alexander
III. They patrolled the streets to keep the crowd
back — such a patient, long-suffering crowd. Some-
times they backed their horses vigorously into the
mass of people ; no one seemed to mind ; the ranks
thinned out a little but formed again instantly.
Sometimes they charged down the street full
gallop, brandishing their lances and yelling in
the most awful way. Even in times of peace it
was enough to strike terror into the stoutest heart.
The Russians seem to have annihilated the
Austrians, who certainly have not proved them-
selves a very formidable foe. I don't think they
will find it so easy with the Germans, who will
certainly make a desperate resistance before Berlin.
For some reason we don't know, the Germans are

74 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

not advancing- on Paris and are retreating steadily
toward the south-east — sixty kilometres — pursued
by the French and English, who have taken cannon
and prisoners. The fighting must have been awful,
day after day, and even the very meagre official
reports say there were great losses on both sides.
It is heart-breaking to think of the mournings there
will be in France when the lists are published. A
whole generation in the flower of their strength and
youth cut down on account of one man's wicked
ambition.

The mayor, who comes to see us every night,
brought a report yesterday that two of the
Emperor's sons were terribly wounded and the
Empress gone out of her mind. If it is true, as
many people say, that she wanted the war, and
arranged it all with the Crown Prince while the
Emperor was cruising, her punishment has come
quickly.

This morning I went to church, a simple country
service ; more men than I expected to see. The
melodeon was played by a small boy with one
finger, but he did sound the notes. The chantre,
having gone to the war, was replaced by an elderly
gentleman who did his best, but wasn't always of
the same key as the instrument. Then the cure
intervened and brought him back to the right note.
The congregation looked respectable and well-to-do.
Fernande says there are no poor in the village.
All the little girls had their hair neatly braided in
pigtails down their backs, tied with a blue or white
ribbon. All the women wear the coiffe of the
country, a white muslin cap with a very full crown
falling" low at the back of the neck, a bow of muslin

WOMEN FARMERS 75

on the top. Some of the rich farmers' wives have
four or five in their trousseau, which last all their
lives and go to their daughters after them. When
they are hand-embroidered they are quite expensive.
A young woman came to see Marie the other day
with a very pretty one which was given to her
when she married, and which cost seventy-five
francs. Marie asked her if she wouldn't like to
wear a hat, but she said not at all, and that her
husband wouldn't let her. " Une fermiere doit
porter la coiffe du pays." The girls wear hats but
simple ones, not so many flowers and feathers as
our girls in Mareuil. Some of the farmers are
very rich. One of them married his daughter
some time ago and gave her a trousseau, linen
sheets and table-linen, and beasts, which would
have been a fortune in Paris. The wedding
festivities went on for a week, all the countryside
feasting at the farm. He is said to have spent five
thousand francs on the entertainment.

Les Aulneaux, Thursday, 1 7th September.

We are having beautiful, golden September
days, but the evenings are chilly. I walk about
in the mornings. All the women come to the
doors of their cottages and ask me to come in.
It is curious to see no men except very, very old
ones, the women doing all the work. Every morn-
ing I meet a girl about twelve years old, mounted
astride on a big farm-horse ; a little later she
appears on another ; evidently takes the horses to
the field, which the women plough. It is only in
the country that one realises the war and the

76 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

difficulty of transport and provisions. The farmers
are afraid even their poor old horses will be taken
away ; all the best ones have already gone.

Our trunks have arrived and we are more
comfortable. Until they came we didn't like to go
out in the rain, as, if we got our skirts wet, we had
nothing to change. We are rather short in books.
I read so much to H. that we are very dependent
upon books and papers. Fernande has put the
44 Bibliotheque Scolaire" at our disposition, and
that may keep us on a little. I have found a
history of France by Lavisse, much abridged and
simplified. Still it will put the main facts back
in our heads, and I shall be able to answer the
boys' questions when we all of us get back to Paris
again. I was very embarrassed when they were
beginning their Bible history to find how little I
remembered about the misfortunes of Tobit and
various Kings of Judah. There is also in the
library a translation of 44 Uncle Tom's Cabin" and
the 4' Last of the Mohicans," so you see we are not
very modern in this quiet little corner of France.
The happy days in Mareuil seem so far off. We
have had such beautiful September days there,
the men shooting partridges all day, we women
joining them at tea-time in the keeper's cottage,
and the lovely walk home across the fields, the
soft evening light making everything a picture — a
peasant woman crossing the field, her baby tied in
a red shawl on the back, the man ploughing, his
white oxen standing out against the sky-line, and
always in the distance the purple line of the Villers-
Cotterets forest.

In a letter from Tours from Madame Sallan-

SCARCITY OF NEWS 77

drouze, received this morning, she spoke of the
constant passage of wounded soldiers, both French
and English, at the station. All the ladies take
them fruit, wine, cigarettes, and above all postcards.
Both Renee and Madeleine speak English well, and
they say the poor men were so grateful to have
postcards sent to their families. One young
fellow said most respectfully to Madeleine : " Might
I kiss you, mademoiselle?" She instantly gave
him her cheek. One regiment had been to La
Ferte-Milon and Mareuil the night of the 31st
(the day Charlotte and her family left) pursuing
German cavalry who also passed through. As the
Germans were retreating they probably didn't
have time to stop and pillage or burn our house ;
however, we know nothing. Francis may have
some news perhaps, but his letters are very rare,
postal communication is very long, and the soldiers
are forbidden to give any details about anything.

Les Aulneaux, Sunday, 20th September.

We get through our days as well as we can,
but it is terrible to have so little news. They are
fighting hard over all parts of the country —
Germans perfect barbarians, burning, pillaging,
shooting perfectly innocent people. There will be
a fearful reckoning when the time comes. At
church this morning the cure read us the bishop's
letter announcing the election of the new Pope,
Benoit XV, and ending with the prayer that he
might be the means of restoring peace among
nations. The service is the most primitive I have
ever seen. The poor little boy who plays the

78 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

harmonium with one finger got nervous this
morning, lost his place completely. Every one
waited — the cure" turning round, saying, "Try the
Alleluia," but no sound was forthcoming. The
cure" and the chantre had it all their own way —
and a very curious plain-chant it was. The chantre
also made the quete. He had neither plate nor
bag— held out his hand and every one put the
offering in the hollow of the palm.

It has been a beautiful day, a gorgeous sunset,
but the evenings are decidedly chilly. I am getting
a little nervous about staying much longer with H.
If it begins to rain or we have a series of foggy
days — already a mist rises in the fields after
sunset — this little house would be very damp —
besides, I seem to get more news, such as it is, in
Paris. Little things always leak out, and the few
diplomatists who are left keep us well informed.

Les Aulneaux, Monday, 21st September.

To-day Marie and I made an excursion to
Mamers, the nearest big town, where there is a
Sous- Prefecture, big hospital, and famous market.
Monsieur le Maire drove us in his dog-cart, a most
primitive little country equipage, with very high,
broad wheels, and rather narrow seats. However,
it was only twelve kilometres and he had a good
little mare (just over two years old, too young to
be requisitioned — all his good farm-horses being
taken). He took us along at a fair rate. We
picked up a friend, a nice-looking peasant woman,
on the road ; she was trudging along to market
carrying a heavy basket in each hand — eggs in one,

MAMERS 79

and pots of fresh yellow butter in the other. The
route was charming, bordered on each side by
high green banks and hedges. We ran for some
time along M. d'Allieres's property (the man who
stood against Caillaux in the last elections), in
fact through his property, as he owned the land on
each side. We went through fine oak woods,
growing very thick, a clearing every now and then
giving a beautiful far view over the plains. The
mayor is a shrewd little man ; talked a great deal ;
told me all he knew and I told him all I knew (with
certain limitations). One of his remarks rather
astonished me. We were talking, of course, about
the war, and how Germany had been preparing
quietly and mobilising for months, while France,
apparently, was quite unprepared. That, he
remarked, was the fault of our Ambassador in
Berlin, who ought to have known what was going
on — that was what Ambassadors were sent to
foreign countries for.

Mamers is a pretty little country town, most
animated to-day, market-day, and a most tempting
market it looked, all the women busy and energetic-
looking, so nice with their clean stiff white coiffes,
standing guard over their stalls. I never saw so
many eggs and tubs of fresh yellow butter before
in my life. There were quantities of soldiers
everywhere, one regiment of chasseurs passing
through on their way to the Marne, and some of
the wounded walking about with heads and arms
bandaged. The hospital is full ; if there are any
English wounded I will go and see them. We
made variuus purchases and then went on to the
gare — quite a walk — to ask about trains and the

80 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

possibility of getting back to Paris. In the main
street, just out of the market, I saw an Infirmiere
of the Croix Rouge in uniform. I went to speak
to her to ask if there are any English at the
hospital. She was rather an attractive-looking
woman, a pretty smile and nice blue eyes. She
was very civil, said there were no English at this
moment, but that they were expecting a convoi.
She would let me know if I would tell her where
I was. I said it wasn't worth while ; I was not
at Mamers, but at a little village some distance
from Les Aulneaux. She said that would make
no difference, she could easily send word. I gave
my name and we parted. The mayor said to me :
" Madame sait a qui elle a parle ? " " Non, pas du
tout." "C'est Madame Caillaux, Madame."
I was rather annoyed. All that affair was so
disgraceful. One felt ashamed of being a French-
woman. However, the conversation was of the
briefest and most impersonal description. It was
curious to come upon the lady the one day I was
at Mamers. We walked through the Place de
la R£publique on our way to the station, a broad,
handsome avenue, with fine trees, good houses
with gardens at the roadside, and quite an
imposing Sous-Prefecture, with iron gates and
good entrance. The station looked deserted —
no sign of traffic, but the chef de gare told us that
the trains ran regularly twice a day to and from
Paris. He advised us to go at night. We would
certainly have no trouble about seats, and it would
be better to arrive in Paris at 6 or 7 in the morning
than at 12.30 or perhaps later at night, so I think
we shall do that and leave Sunday. We went

BOMBARDMENT OF RHEIMS 81

back to the market to pick up our bundles, and
found everybody reading" the Paris papers, and
half-mad with rage. The Germans have bom-
barded and reduced to ruins the Cathedral of
Rheims ; there were explosions of indignation
everywhere. Their conduct is inexplicable, to
destroy for the pleasure of destroying and putting
the whole civilised world against them. One can't
imagine Rheims without that splendid old
cathedral, so full of beauty and mystery and the
old traditions of France — all her history. The
mayor and one of his military friends with whom
we took coffee before starting back, in a cafe" filled
with soldiers and small farmers, were furious, and
suggested that we would do well to burn the
Cologne Cathedral when our troops get into
Germany. One can't quite do that, but one
might destroy the Royal Palace in Berlin and
a few of the other hideous buildings which adorn
the city.

There was no special news from the war zone,
but one serious measure — all the men up to forty-
eight years old have been called out. Certainly
life is made up of contrasts here. As I was
jogging along very contentedly with the mayor,
talking about the relative merits of oaks, which
he knew about, and poplars, which I knew about,
as a source of income, I asked myself if it could
have been I who drove into the Kremlin in a
gala carriage attired in "a white satin gown, all
finished off with a golden crown," as the old song
says.

82 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

Les Aulneaux, Tuesday, 22nd September.

Another beautiful day. One ought to be so
happy merely to live in such weather, and when
one thinks of all those who will never see their
homes and woods and fields again, it is heart-
rending. We have had a very good mail to-day,
all the papers, of course, full of the bombardment
of Rheims, the English and Americans most out-
spoken. I shouldn't think Von Bernstorffs
position in America was a very enviable one.
I have a nice letter from Charlotte from Octeville,
where she has found a nice little farmhouse, very
clean, with four rooms, kitchen, sitting-room, and
two bedrooms ; orchards, big garden — potager —
a cow, chickens, and all sorts of vegetables. It is
close to the cantonnement, so that Francis can
come to dine and sleep every night. She is so
happy, poor child, to be with Francis again.
She has also found a nice, strong country girl to
do the cooking and general work. Says the boys are
quite well and happy, playing all day in the fields
and gardens. She has friends and relations at
Cherbourg — twenty minutes' walk, and curiously
enough it was at Cherbourg that she made
Francis' acquaintance, when her father, Admiral
Sallandrouze, commanded the Atlantic squadron
and was stationed at Cherbourg. She and Nanna
are going to work regularly at the Cherbourg
hospital.

I left off as I heard the boulangere's corne.
She generally has news, and stops at the gate
for a little talk. She hadn't any news, but gave
her customers a disagreeable piece of informa-

LE MELE 83

tion — she must raise her prices, and ask in the
future twenty-four sous instead of twenty-three
for the long loaf of bread which she supplies. The
women protested, but she said her bags of flour
had increased in price and diminished in size.
She couldn't make both ends meet if she didn't
ask more for her bread. She is mistress of the
situation, as there is no other baker in the
neighbourhood. I suppose at the big" farms they do
make bread, but there would be no way of getting
it ; the men are all away, and the women too busy
to go and get it. Every clay women come to
the mairie to ask for news of their husbands and
sons. One poor young thing with four small
children is quite hopeless. Her husband was in
all the fighting in Belgium ; wrote or sent messages
at first ; since three weeks she has heard nothing.
The nights are beautiful, the sky as blue almost
as in the day, and myriads of stars. I wonder
what horrors they look down upon.

Les AULNEAUX, Wednesday, 2$rd September.

To-day Marie and I and the maire have been
to the other big town, Le Mele ; just the same
lovely country, but more farms and fields than
toward Mamers. I should think there was more
culture. We passed one big farm where there
were quantities of stacks of wheat ; the mayor said
they had been there for a long time ; there was no
one to take them in ; each man had as much as he
could do to work his own farm. A sign of the
times was the women carting. We saw certainly
three or four heavy carts drawn by two old horses,

84 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

filled with bags of flour or potatoes, with women
walking alongside with their long whips, just like
the men. Le Mele is a pretty little town, the river
Sarthe flowing through it. Just at the entrance
there is a picturesque old house, now a mill, with
courtyard and towers ; it had been a chateau.
Usually they did a most flourishing business, the
mayor told me, but to-day it was almost deserted
— a few old men and boys staggering along with
heavy bags on their shoulders. It was market-
day and the town was full, but evidently a great
many strangers — "des Parisiens," one woman told
us. " Le Mele is on the highroad from Paris to
Brest, and hundreds of people passed through at
the time of the panic (when the Germans were
near Paris), on their way to some quiet little place
in Brittany. For two days, the patronne of our
little hotel told us, two hundred autos a day filled
with women, children, and baggage passed through
the town. There are no soldiers, no wounded,
there now. The only two doctors had gone to the
front ; no traces of war — a busy little country
town. When I went into a shop to ask for a
pattern of cale^on militaire, the woman said to me,
seeing my Red Cross badge, "Ah, Madame is
come to open a hospital." All the women in the
shop were making garments for the soldiers, some
of them knitting stockings as they walked along
the streets. There were several autos with nice-
looking people in them standing about. The
market was crowded — always the same nice-
looking women, so active and alert, standing at
their stalls, their arms akimbo, smiling and eager
and so intelligent in understanding what one

A SUSPICIOUS AUTOMOBILE 85

wanted. I always say Frenchwomen of all classes
are the best business women in the world. There
was just the same tempting array of eggs, cheeses,
chickens, and butter as at Mamers, but we get all
these from the farms. We wanted some meat,
which we only get once a week from the butcher.
The great feature was fat little pink pigs, really
quite pretty — their long hair, carefully combed,
like silk. The mayor told us they were much in
demand, cost forty francs apiece. I shall become
an expert in farms and woods. I always said I
ought to have lived in the country and have
managed a model farm. It was really more my
vocation than the life I have led in courts and
embassies, though that had its charm too.

The poor mayor was rather worried when we
got home. He found despatches advising him
of the passage of a certain black automobile, filled
with men dressed as women, flying at top-speed
over the country — spies certainly — who must be
arrested. Such extraordinary rumours get about.
He was going to communicate with the gendarmes,
as he alone — he is a little man — could do nothing.
Usually nothing passes — some children, a few
carts and wagons, and a great many geese, who
are as good as watch-dogs. It seems they hate
strangers, fly at the children sometimes, and
always cackle and flap their wings when any one
passes. They are enormous in this country, as
big as swans. It really is a lovely view I have out
of my window when I open the shutters wide early
in the morning and look straight across the narrow
country road to a high green bank and hedge,
behind it pear and apple trees loaded with fruit ;

86 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

just around the corner a little white house with a
red roof, with a small garden in front, where
a red-cheeked, white-haired old woman sits all day
in the sun, and invites one in to pick some of her
ilowers. They make their cider here much more
with pears than apples, and very good it is,
though very strong- ; I add a great deal of water.

Les Aulneaux, Friday, 2$th September.

Still beautiful, bright days. We sit out all
day ; take our meals (except dinner) in the garden.
Yesterday I went with Marie to one of the famous
farms near here. The fermiere came for us in her
little trap — a clean, energetic little woman, dressed
like all the peasants in a short black skirt, and
wide, blue-and- white check apron, which hid her
dress entirely, but no coiffe, her hair very neatly
done. She has eight children — seven boys, three
at the war, and one girl, and now they do all the
farm work themselves, as they can't get any
labourers. The court looked very clean and
sunny, all the buildings in good order. We saw
everything conscientiously. It was amusing when
the boys drove in the brood-mares (which have just
begun to work a little). They let out the colts, who
all galloped madly to their mothers. The farm is
very well known. They got the second prize for
the best-kept farm, and would have had the first,
if there hadn't been a bottle of cornichons in the
dairy, which the judges said was not in its proper
place. She gave us milk, cider, everything she
had, and we carried home a pot of thick yellow
cream.

GERMANS AT MAREUIL 87

This afternoon's mail has brought us bad news
from Mareuil. I was sure it would come, but it
has distressed me very much. One of our friends,
M. Pernolet, was en tournee in our part of the
country and stopped at Mareuil to give us news.
This is what he writes: "The ist of September
the English arrived and did a little harm, but they
only passed through. Then came the Germans,
who stayed eight days. They have entirely
demolished the inside of the house, stolen linen,
dresses, all the batterie de cuisine, twenty-nine
lamps, the silver broken, and spoilt all the furniture.
In the cabinet stolen medals, arms, ransacked and
thrown about all the papers ; all the bedding
spoilt ; one new automobile taken ; an old one
left; the outside is intact."

I don't think we could have prevented it. I
could not leave Charlotte there alone with her
boys to face these savages, and even if I could
have left H., I don't think I could have prevented
anything, a woman alone, but it is awful to think
of our house ruined and so much of value taken.
All my husband's papers were there, locked and
padlocked in a case, but that, of course, was easily
smashed. I must get back to Paris and then
down to Mareuil. I have written to our woman
down there who went away with all the rest when
they were told to £vacuer, and also to the cure\ but
I must get there. It would have been a miracle
if we had escaped, as our place is directly on the
highroad from Meaux to Rheims. We had also
a letter from Comtesse Gyldenstolpe (n£e Norah
Plunkett), wife of the Swedish minister, from
Bordeaux. She says : ' I shall never forget our

G

88 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

hurried departure from Paris that night, that end-
less train, crowded with people of all nationalities,
from a small Chinese baby up to the most im-
portant Ambassador, everybody divided up by
countries. I never knew we had so many colleagues
before. As we travelled through the night we
passed one train militaire after the other, crowds
both of soldiers and evident refugees all along the
line, so many wounded too. I shall never forget
it ; everybody so anxious and preoccupied, and at
the same time each one asking for his baggage
and wondering how he could caser himself when
one got there. The heat too ; there are no words
to describe what it was ; no words either to describe
the crowd, soldiers, political people, diplomats,
stray foreigners, who really had nothing to do
here, and anxious relatives, who wished to be
at headquarters to obtain news. . . ."

I think the crowd has diminished a little now,
but, of course, as long as the Government is at
Bordeaux it will always be the great centre. We
have been up to the church for the last time, and
I went to say good-bye to M. le Cure. He received
me in his salon this time — really quite a nice
room, with a red-velvet sofa and armchairs, a
bookcase, and a big window opening on a pretty
garden. I told him if I had been more familiar
with the chants of his church I would have offered
to play for him. He said he hadn't dared ask
me. He was much interested in all I told him
about Mareuil and how our house had been saccage.
It was a beautiful evening, soft, pink sunset clouds ;
the yellow moon just rising over the trees; not
a sound in the quiet little place until the evening

BACK IN PARIS 89

angrelus. I shall miss the bells ; they seem to speak
of peace and hope.

Paris, Monday, 2&th September.

We arrived this morning- after a long night in
the train, the carriage full. However, we had no
adventures. We left Les Aulneaux looking quite
charming in the sunshine about 3 o'clock yesterday
afternoon. I had sent for a carriage from Mamers
for H., as I was afraid she would appreciate neither
the Mayor's conveyance nor his conversation, but
his trap followed with our luggage and the two
women. The drive was charming ; our old horse
went quite fast enough. The harness was a little
casual ; the driver got down once or twice to
arrange something, finally asked Marie if she had
a pair of scissors and a piece of string. She
produced both, and he mended whatever was
wrong, and we got to Mamers without any ad-
venture. The town was full cf soldiers — many
wounded, a group of Turcos sitting in the sun.
Two of them looked badly, stretched out on
couvertures ; they couldn't speak — just smiled
when we talked to them. These fierce fighters
that caused such havoc with the Germans, and
are such a wild, formidable enemy, had good
simple faces, almost childlike. We stopped at the
Hotel du Cygne on the Place de la Republique,
and sat on the terrace till nearly 9 o'clock, much
interested in all that was going on. There was
evidently a general or superior officer staying in
the house, as orderlies were going and coming
all the time with despatches. I asked a nice-
looking old colonel if there was any news. " Cela

90 FIRST DAYS OF THE WAR

va bien, Madame ; nous n'avons qu'attendre ; nous
attendrons." ("All is going well; we have only
to wait. We will wait.") The dinner was good,
served by women ; was entirely military — one long
room rilled with sous-officiers, the other reserved
for the officers and the few passing travellers.
There was a great jingle of spurs and sabres when
they all trooped in — and a very good-looking lot
of officers they were — and then a flow of conversa-
tion ; all were most cheerful. We had a little
table at one end of the room, too far to hear any
of the talk, which I was sorry for. Some of them
were evidently just from the front, some very
smart chasseurs with their light-blue tunics and
red trousers, which showed distinct signs of wear.
I caught every now and then the names of familiar
places in my part of the country : La Ferte-Milon
— Villers-Cotterets. They might perhaps have
given me news of Mareuil, but I didn't like to
ask. Our carriage came a little before 8 to take
us to the station, where there was again a great
crowd — as many people apparently wanting to
get into Paris now as there were who wanted
to get out three weeks ago. We took a little
country train to Connerets and there got the rapide
de Brest for Paris. Any illusion we had had of
a carriage to ourselves — or even a comfortable
seat — was quickly dispelled. The train stopped
for a very short time ; we were hurried into the
first-class carriage (there were only two on the
train) and found one seat (we were four) for H.
I began my night sitting on my valise in the
couloir, but after a little while the people in the
carriage where H. was made room for me, and

PARIS AGAIN 91

I got through the night fairly comfortably, though
it is years since I have sat up straight all night
in a crowded carriage. I was thankful when we
arrived at 7.30 at the Gare Montparnasse, and
I hope I won't have to take another railway journey
while the country is under martial law.

OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Paris, $th October.

I have been ill for two or three days. The
visit1 to Mareuil upset me entirely. However, I
have got my nerve back. Thing's might have
been worse, and after the war, if all goes well with
us, it will be interesting to reconstruct our house
and our lives. Nothing can ever be the same
again.

After breakfast, I walked down to the Embassy
to thank the Ambassador for having given us an
auto and an officer to go down to Mareuil. I
found there the new Spanish Ambassador, Mar-
quis de V., a fine soldierly-looking old man. He
remains in Paris, having stopped a few days in
Bordeaux to present his credentials.

They were both much interested in all I told
them of the state in which I found my house and
the village ; and they rather comforted me, saying
that any troops would have taken blankets,
coverlids, and saucepans out of an uninhabited
house. I couldn't have refused them, naturally,
to our own soldiers ; but they wouldn't have taken
pictures and silver and souvenirs of all kinds.

1 This visit is described later; see page no.

92

NEWS FROM THE FRONT 93

It is beautiful weather. I enjoy the walk over
to the ouvroir ; should enjoy it more if there were
not occasional Tauben flying" about. No one
seems to mind them. Every one runs out into the
middle of the street when they hear one coming,
though people have been warned to stay indoors.
One hears them from a long distance.

Mrs D. came in late to the ouvroir, rather
afraid she may be evacuee a second time, as the
Germans are unpleasantly near the ambulance.
She carried off a large parcel of sheets and pillow-
cases we had made for her. I went to dine with
her at the Hotel Crillon. There was no one but
ourselves in the dining-room, but the gerant told
us there were several people in the house.

They had an Englishman with them whose
name I didn't catch, a tall man, dressed in khaki,
with the Red Cross brassard on his arm. He had
been to the front in his motor to look for his son,
reported missing, whom he didn't find. He said
people were very kind, trying to help him, but that
it was impossible to get anywhere near the front :
all sorts of vehicles, provision-wagons, munition,
cannon, and autos — squads of cavalry crowding
on the roads, which are getting very bad and cut
up with so much passing ; a few heavy motors
struggling helplessly on the side of the road — and
in the fields.

I came away early as I didn't like driving about
in the dark. The Champs Elysees are scarcely
lighted. It is now a long, black avenue, the trees
on each side making a high dark wall.

94 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Paris, Thursday, %th October.

I was at the ouvroir all the afternoon. We
want now to make packages to send to the front.
We have many more applicants for work than
we can employ, and it is hard to send the women
away. They look so utterly miserable ; but we
can't increase our expenses. I stopped at the
Automobile Club, who send off autos filled with
warm clothes once or twice a week. All the
packages were piled up in the courtyard, and each
one was weighed, as they must not exceed a
certain number of pounds. They were all kinds :
An old woman came in with such a small packet,
wanting to send it to her son, and the soldier in
charge, a smart-looking young reserviste, was so
nice with her, looking to see if the name, company,
and regiment were distinctly marked. I asked
her what it was. " Only a flannel band, Madame;
I have nothing to send and he asks for nothing,
but he always liked his flannel belt." They are
very useful ; we make dozens of them, some in
flannel, some knit or crochet.

I am going to ask the women in our street, the
epiciere and the patronne of a little cafe at the
corner where the Croix Rouge employes and
Boy Scouts breakfast, if they won't knit me
cache-nez and stockings, if I supply wool and
needles.

I dined out to-night — a rare occurrence in these

times — with Sir Henry to meet Lord and Lady

Robert Cecil. He is over here with the British
Red Cross Society. There was also an English
banker who is banker for all the British officers.

DARKENED STREETS 95

The talk was interesting. I really think the British
hate the Germans more than we do. We spoke
of old times, and Hatfield, of course, when all
were young men, unmarried and at home, and a
very cheerful, united family party they were ;
and all so clever. Lord R. told me his brother
Edward had lost his only son. The mother came
over to see if she could find his body. He was
reported missing after the battle of the Marne.
She went down to Rheims, made all sorts of in-
quiries — heard of many good-looking- young
Englishmen killed — even had some of the graves
opened (the clothes and belongings of each dead
man are put in a bundle at his head), but could
find no trace of her boy. She is one of a million
mothers who will never hear anything more of
their sons.

The drive home is always disagreeable ; so
dark and the streets so deserted ; I think our
street is the darkest of all. It doesn't seem like
Paris when one crosses the avenue du Trocadero,
usually so light and so many carriages dashing
about, and the trams a long line of light which are
seen at a great distance. Now it is quite black.
Suddenly a figure emerges out of the darkness,
quite close to you. A little further on one just
gets the glint of the bayonet of the sentry at the
foot of the hill. I don't believe a creature has
come back. There is no sign of life ; no lights
anywhere. As long as the Germans are still near
Paris and the Tauben flying overhead, people
won't come back.

96 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Paris, Saturday, 10th October.

It is beautiful summer weather and the days
slip by. We were quite a large party at the
ouvroir this afternoon. Madame de Sincay, who
is infirmiere at the British Red Cross hospital
installed at the Hotel Astoria, asked me for some
"Nightingales." I didn't know what they were,
but the boys' English nurse told me: a loose,
sleeveless jacket which the men like on their
shoulders when they can sit up in bed to read or
write. They were invented by the famous English
nurse, Florence Nightingale, in the Crimea, and
called after her. We went at once for some flannel,
and will have some made as quickly as possible, all
the ladies working hard.

At 7 o'clock C. came for me and we went to
dine at La Rue's, one of the most popular cafes in
the rue Royale, to see the aspect of the boulevards
at night. There were a good many people dining
— a very good dinner. One long table filled with
British officers, who attracted much attention from
some of the pretty young women, dames seules,
who were dining quietly in the corner — almost all
with the badge or brassard of the Croix Rouge.
Women of all classes have formed that society,
and some of the best nurses are young actresses
and dancers from the Paris theatres.

D. dined with us. He goes every day to the
Jockey Club and hears their view of the way things
are being done, and how now, after the first burst
of patriotism, politics are beginning to play a part.

I think the Government is doing very well ;
and if there are individual cases of treachery (it

GERMAN CHARACTERISTICS 97

seems an awful word to use in connection with any
French soldier or minister) it will have no effect on
the public.

War always brings out the best qualities of
people of all classes — except the Germans, who
have developed such barbarity and cruelty that
we ask ourselves how they were ever considered
a Christian, civilised power. They imposed upon
all the world with their Familienleben and their
sentimental music and poetry.

A little after 9, the waiters began to bring the
hats and coats of the diners, and gradually to put
out the lights. At 9.30 two policemen appeared at
the door, and in ten minutes the cafe" was empty.

We walked about a little, but the boulevards
were depressing ; very dark, and one needs as
much outside light as possible in these sad days.

Paris, Wednesday, \\th October.

The days are so alike that one hardly realises
that the autumn is slipping away. The weather
is beautiful still. I went up to the rue de la Pompe.
Maggie is there, and we went to the hospital in-
stalled in the Lycee Janson, just opposite our
apartment, to see an English soldier, a nice-
looking young fellow, not wounded, but almost
dead with rheumatism and pneumonia. He had
been four days and nights on his gun (he was an
artilleryman), sometimes in a pouring rain. He
said everyone was good to him at the hospital,
some ladies even bringing him tea and buns every
day. We promised him some warm clothes as he
was to go back to the front in a day or two. He

98 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

was dying- to get on his gun again and have
another shot at the Germans. Told us horrors
he had seen ; but said the Germans were drunk
(he was near Rheims) ; their officers had no control
of them.

Paris, Friday, 16th October.

Maggie came in after lunch with the gunner
who was to leave for the front the next day. He
looked better but delicate still ; was dressed in the
clothes we gave him, and had had a good " English "
lunch at one of the restaurants. The Medecin-
Chef had allowed Maggie to take him out until
5 o'clock. The Mygatts were here, and we were
all much interested in all he told us. He never
had his clothes off from the 20th August until the
15th September. His boots had to be cut off,
they were so hard and stiff. When they wanted
to give him another pair at the hospital, he refused
absolutely ; said he would never put on boots again
— went for days in felt slippers.

Paris, Saturday, l'jth October.

Our beautiful sun has gone in. To-day it is
grey and damp. Mrs Mygatt and I went to see
the mayor of our arrondissement to speak about
some poor women who wanted work. He was
not there, but we saw a lady, very important,
who was in charge of the ouvrieres sans travail.
She recommended two women, soldiers' wives, one
a culottiere (woman who makes trousers), and the
other a piqueuse de machine a coudre. They
would be very pleased to come every afternoon

TIDINGS FROM BELGIUM 99

from 2 to 6 for fr. 1.50. Poor thing's, it is nothing
for clever Paris workwomen. One gained 10 francs
a day, with two meals, at one of the good tailors ;
the other about the same. We don't say we will
give any meals, but we will give tea and thick slices
of bread and butter, and later a bowl of soup.

Mme. del Marmol, our Belgian friend, came in
quite happy, poor thing, as she had had news of
her children in the country in Belgium, for the first
time since the siege of Liege. She is just starting
an ouvroir for the Belgian women ; says their
misery is appalling ; some of the children have
no shirts or underclothes of any description, only
a dress or a coat over their skin. One woman
came to the ouvroir with her baby, a month old.
They put it in a basket near the fire, and the little
thing was quite happy and slept peacefully, all the
other women crowding around it. She says they
don't complain ; seem half stunned by the awful
catastrophe that has fallen upon them.

Poor, pretty, smiling little Belgium, with
gardens and farms and thriving, busy, happy
population! It is sickening to think of black
burned plains, and whole villages smoking ruins !

Mme. de Singay came in about 6 o'clock to beg
for garments for a military hospital at Villers-
Cotterets, where they were in need of everything.
Some one down there asked her if she knew me ;
said Mr Waddington had represented so long
that part of the country that they were sure I
would help them. She carried off a fine bundle of
flannel shirts, warm calec/jns, red flannel ceintures,
and rolls of bandages of all sizes.

I found M. sitting with H. when I came home.

100 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Her husband is an infirmier at the American
Ambulance, works there every day from 8 in the
morning until 7 at night. She says he is tired out,
stoops like an old man ; has his dinner as soon as
he comes in, and goes at once to bed. She had
just seen her eldest boy (22), who is in a French
cuirassier regiment. He is a Russian subject, was
in Canada when the war broke out, and couldn't
get back in time to enlist in a Russian regiment,
so joined the French army, as did the son of
Isvolsky, Russian Ambassador in France, who was
also too late to get to Russia.

Paris, Sunday, \Zth October.

There was an innovation in the American
church this morning — almost all the boys and
young men of the choir have been called away either
as soldiers or scouts, and they are replaced by
girls dressed in black with white surplices, and
little white caps on their heads, only a few older
men remaining.

We had a few visits in the afternoon. Mrs
Watson, the rector's wife, came late. She was
most interesting, telling curious stories of Americans
of all classes stranded here at the beginning of the
war. The Ambassador and Mrs Herrick, Sir
H. L., and Pauline de B. dined. Lt. G., the
young officer who took me down to Mareuil, came
in after dinner. Lt. G. had just come back from
the front, where he had picked up wounded and
brought them back to the hospital. He said shells
were flying about in a pretty lively manner.

The Harjes have done a most generous thing :
fitted out and equipped entirely — nurses, doctors,

A FIELD-HOSPITAL 101

and ambulance — a field-hospital in a chateau close
to the firing-line. Everything is arranged so that
the zvhole hospital can move on to another place in
two hours, if there came a serious attack.

I thought the Ambassador looked tired ; he
does so much and sees so many people — not only
his own colony, but many of his colleagues, who
go to him for advice.

He is reading the Life of Washburne, who was
United States Minister here in 1870, and remained
in Paris all through the siege and the Commune.
He said it was most interesting to read it just
now, when he was doing the same thing, but under
such different circumstances.

Paris, Tuesday, 20th October.

A. H. came to breakfast this morning, and we
went after breakfast to see Mrs W. at the rectory.
She had promised to show us her ouvroir. I had
never been inside of the house. It is pretty and
original, very comfortable for two people. No
clergyman with a family could get into it. She
showed us some of the upstairs rooms over the
church, which had been most useful at the time of
the American invasion, as they had put beds and
mattresses everywhere, in the library, in the corridor,
and even in the cloisters. The weather was so
warm and beautiful all those first days of the war.

The ouvroir was very well arranged, a large
light room — cupboards all around the walls ; about
twenty women, all French, working at a long table,
some by hand, some with sewing-machines. There
were two women in charge — a surveillante who
gave out and examined the work, and another who

102 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

had the caisse, received any money that came,
and paid the women. It was most orderly. In
some of the cupboards were all sorts of clothes,
both men's and women's, sent in trunks to Mrs
W. by people who were going" back to America
and were willing to leave their contents for less
fortunate compatriots who couldn't get away with
the first rush, and who had no clothes except what
they had on their backs.

Most of the useful things had been given away,
but there were still some evening cloaks, one or
two pretty dresses with fichus and sashes, fancy
shoes and blouses, and petticoats with lace and
embroidery. Mrs W. told me that one woman
carried off a pair of white satin slippers. She
rather protested, thought it foolish, but the woman
persisted. She returned three or four days
afterward with a pair of nice black shoes on. She
had covered the white satin slippers with some
black stuff, and had a very neat pair of shoes.

We carried off some patterns, a plastron, and
some loose stockings to go over swollen or bandaged
feet. Nothing is lost in the ouvroir. They use
the selvage as it is cut off the flannel. It makes
strong twine to tie up packages.

Paris, Wednesday, 21st October.

There is very little war news. I wonder if it
is right to keep the public in such ignorance. The
Germans have not succeeded in getting either
Calais or Dunkirk, but we haven't dislodged them
from their trenches near Soissons, and as long as
they are in France one can't breathe freely.

VISITING THE WOUNDED 103

I went with the M.'s this afternoon to visit a
hospital of the Petites Soeurs des Pauvres in the
rue Lafayette, near the Gare du Nord. We
passed a house which had been destroyed by bombs
dropped from a German Taube. Roof, windows,
facade gone, a crowd in front of it. The hospital
looked very peaceful and well ordered in a convent
on one side of a big- courtyard. The church at
the bottom. The Superieure, a good, kind, helpful
woman, took us into the wards. They only have
twenty beds — as they have very little room and no
surgical cases, for they have no surgeons or doctors
in permanent attendance. They are very poor ;
depend entirely upon what people will give them.
When the first wounded came they had nothing
— gave up their own beds, and made first bandages
out of their own chemises.

We saw one young officer with his right arm
amputated — twenty-eight years old — with a wife
and child, another one on the way. He had been
moved there as soon as possible after his operation.
I stopped to talk to him a little when the party
moved on. I am very shy about talking to the
men. I think they must hate a party of sightseers,
who come to inspect the hospital and say a few
banal words to each man. He looked so sad, I
said to him : " It is melancholy to see you like this
at your age." " I don't complain, Madame, it might
be worse. I am glad to have been able to serve
my country; but I am a cripple for life." The
Mere Superieure told me his wife didn't know yet
that his arm had been cut off. They were going
to tell her the next morning. I said: "Don't tell
her yet, poor thing, in the state she is in; wait

ii

104 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

until her baby is born." But the good nun
answered, putting her hand on my arm : " Oh,
yes, Madame, she must be told ; she must bear her
cross like so many women in France to-day. She
must be thankful to have him back even a cripple ;
many women will never see their husbands again."
I was haunted all night by the poor fellow's
eyes, so big in his white, drawn face.

Paris, Saturday, 24M October.

Our work is going on well. The mayor sends
us women every day, but we can't employ all,
and it is hard to send them away. Some of the
women who asked at first to work at home have
now asked to come to the workroom, where they
have fire, lights, and company. Usually nine or
ten French girls working together chatter all the
time ; but now one scarcely hears a word except
something to do with the work. They all look sad,
and what is worse, they all look hungry. I suppose
a good bowl of cafe au lait and a slice of bread
helps a little, but it isn't a meal for working,
growing girls.

We have had no Taube for several days, but
French aeroplanes are always hovering over Paris
— which of course the Germans know, as they
know everything. They are bombarding Lille
and Arras. Soon northern and eastern France
will be as completely devastated as Belgium.

Paris, Sunday, 25M October.

I didn't go out at all to-day, though the sun
was shining brightly. We had visitors all the

GERMAN PRISONERS 105

afternoon, and Mrs B. and Lord W. dined with
us. Lord W. had brought our despatches and
had been to the front ; said everybody seemed
quite satisfied, but all the same the fighting- in
the north is terrible, and the wounds ghastly.
Some of the German prisoners tell stories of hunger
and of being forced to fight, and show no enthusiasm
for the war or the Kaiser. But the officers as a
rule are reserved and arrogant. There is always
a note of gaiety even in these tragic days, when
one talks of the Kaiser and his intimate relations
with God. An Englishman who happened to
be at Potsdam on Good Friday, was surprised
to see the Imperial flag on the Palace at half-
mast — hadn't seen in the papers that any member
of the Royal Family was dead. He asked the
driver (of the fiacre he was in) what it meant ;
who was dead ? The man grinned, and pointing
to the flag, remarked: " Familientrauer " (family
mourning).

Paris, Monday, 26/h October.

The weather is beautiful, and there are a few
more people about in the daytime, but the streets
are melancholy at night, quite dark and deserted.
When we come back late — 7 o'clock — from the
ouvroir, we generally come en bande, walking ;
but if it rains, we take a taxi between us, which
takes each one home. Everybody walks ; no one
has a carriage. There are only Red Cross and
military aut<

Mine. Marchand came to tea with us, and we
promised to send her a packet for the front where
her husband has a command. He has many

106 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Turcos in his brigade, and says they are shivering.
Poor fellows ! how will they ever stand the real
cold weather when the winter begins ?

Very nice-looking women came to ask for work
this afternoon ; one with such good manners,
looking and speaking like a lady, implored us not
to send her away. We gave her some work.
She told the caissiere she hadn't 50 centimes in
her purse.

Paris, Thursday, 29th October.

B. and M. came in this morning. They are
installing an ambulance in their chateau, which
means putting in chauffage central — extra bath-
rooms and various other changes ; so that for the
moment the house is not habitable — as B. says,
there are holes in the walls everywhere — they are
in Paris for a few days.

She read me a charming letter from J. (my
godson), who is corporal in a regiment of cuirassiers
somewhere in Belgium. She didn't know where,
as the soldiers are not allowed to put any address
on their letters, but "at the front." When he
wrote, he was acting as interpreter for the
British. He says they are wonderfully equipped,
have plenty of warm clothes and excellent food.
He had tea with them sometimes in the trenches,
and they gave him some jam. Half of his regiment
is now a pied in the trenches, as they have no more
horses. There is nothing for the cavalry to do
now. Their turn will come when the Germans
retreat and we drive them out of France. Those
who are dressed for it manage pretty well, but he
is still in his cuirassier's uniform, high boots, spurs,

QUEEN MARY'S LETTER 107

cloak and casque, and doesn't find that very
convenient for crouching in the trenches. As he
is very tall — over six feet — the trenches are not
much of a shelter for him.

He says, as they all do, that the British fight
like lions ; but they are most independent ; can't
stay in the trenches. When they hear the noise
of any explosion, they start up and get killed at
once.

I went to the Embassy for a few minutes after
breakfast ; found people there, of course. They
keep open house always ; have people lunching
and dining. Dr H. was there, who was American
Ambassador in Berlin some years ago. I asked
him if he wasn't surprised at the brutality of the
Germans. He said he couldn't understand them,
above all the Kaiser. He had often talked to
him about all sorts of things ; found him intelligent,
well-informed, with a strong sense of his position
and responsibilities. He had raised his country
to such a height of prosperity ; everything — army,
navy, commerce, colonies, so firmly established —
that it seemed incredible he should have sacrificed
it all for his own insane ambition.

Mrs Herrick had a charming letter from Queen
Mary, thanking her for all she had done for
British people. It was a pretty, womanly letter.
Both she and the Ambassador will have many
more before the war ends. Their staying here
through all the darkest days will never be forgotten.
The big gates and doors of the Embassy were
always wide open, and there was a continuous
stream of people pouring in, asking for advice
and help.

108 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Paris, Saturday, 31st October.
Always the same meagre war news, but one
feels that things are going well with us. I have
again letters from the cure of Mareuil and Mme.
Gaillard, my concierge, begging me to come down.
Mme. G. says she has soldiers quartered always
at the house, and that they are very exacting,
must have fires of course ("Madame sait comme
le bois est cher"), and would like blankets — but
as the Germans took all mine, I can't give them
any. I must take some down when I go. This
is the list of the necessary things I must bring
down, Mme. G. says : Coal, petroleum, lamps,
candles, table-cloths, napkins, towels, blankets,
china, knives, forks, spoons, sugar and salt,
pillows — batterie de cuisine. She hasn't got a
kettle or a saucepan in the kitchen. Also, will I
bring down some warm clothes for the women
and children? People have been very kind in
sending me clothes. Mrs Watson sent me a good
package from her ouvroir, and I will take some
men's shirts from mine.

They also write from La Ferte-Milon for
hospital shirts, warm clothes, and bandages. The
sisters have wounded men at the Hotel- Dieu, and
very few resources. La Ferte was occupied by
the Germans, and the town had to pay a heavy
indemnity to prevent them from bombarding and
destroying their beautiful churches.

Paris, Monday, 2nd November
{/our des Morts).

We have had two beautiful days, and I have
been so homesick for Mareuil. The Toussaint is

LE JOUR DES MORTS 109

such an important day in our little village. Early
in the morning- the children come to get flowers
to decorate the church and the tombs. I seemed
to hear the clatter of sabots and the shrill voices
of the children as they trooped into the courtyard,
and to smell the chrysanthemums which they
carried off in quantities. Then came the sacristan
with two choir-boys, carrying with much pomp
the pain benit we always gave on that day — an
erection of brioches, going up in a pyramid, with
a wreath of flowers at the base. The church was
always full the next day (Les Morts). I never
went. The black draperies and funeral service,
and the names of all who died in the year read out,
made such an impression upon me the only time I
went, that it left a haunting memory that lasted
for weeks every time I went to the church. But
I always went to the cemetery, after the service,
and stood with the village people who were praying
for their dead. It never seems quite the same day
in the city.

Paris, Wednesday, ^th November.

We are going to Mareuil to-morrow. Maggie
will go down with me. We were busy making our
packets all the morning, and went in the afternoon
to get my sauf-conduit. They always make a
difficulty about it. My pieces d'identite are not
sufficient. They want my certificat de mariage,
which is at Mareuil — and are most unwilling to give
any sauf-conduit for a village in the war zone. I
wanted to get a permanent pass from the Governor
of Paris, but he won't give me that, as I am not con-
nected with a hospital or ambulance at the front.

110 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Mareuil,
Thursday, ^th November 19 14.

I am writing in my own room, in one corner of
our house which has been disinfected and thor-
oughly cleaned. The servants have made it as
comfortable as they could with the chairs and
tables the Boches have left me. I have an
excellent lamp which I brought down with me,
and a bright, crackling wood-fire, with pieces of
wood about as big as matches which come from
the saw-mill opposite. The little girl brings them
in her apron. It is the first time I have fully
realised what the German occupation meant, and
how much can be taken out of a house, and how
much dirt left in in eight days.

Mareuil is a peaceful, sleepy little village of
about five hundred inhabitants, in the heart of the
great farming country of France. It is directly
on the highroad between Meaux and Soissons,
about twenty miles from each. It is surrounded
by big farms and woods. The fields stretch away
to the horizon, on one side ; on the other to the
great forest of Villers-Cotterets. There are no
local industries, no factories ; the men work in the
fields and woods. The women do nothing but
look after their houses and children.

Of course all the men, except the old ones, left
in the first days of the mobilisation. My daughter-
in-law with her two boys, aged eight and nine, had
remained in the house.

The farmer next door and the miller promised
to look after the women of the family, and the
month passed quietly enough. Toward the end,

ORDERED TO LEAVE 111

there were rumours of the Germans having- broken
through the "wall of steel," and small parties of
Uhlans were said to be hovering about Rheims
and Laon, also armed autos were reported dash-
ing through the villages, firing at every one they
met.

Suddenly on Saturday night, the 29th of
August, Charlotte was told she must leave the
next day as early as possible. The village was to
be eVacue by ordre militaire — every one to leave,
mayor, Conseil Municipal, cure\ women. They
spent Saturday night hiding all the valuables they
could — papers, medals, etc., and left at 7 o'clock
Sunday morning, with the greatest difficulty.
The train was crowded with refugees and wounded
soldiers. They could not have got seats even in
one of the fourgons (baggage-wagons) if our chef
de gare had not insisted.

They had an awful journey, taking fourteen
hours to travel a distance which usually takes two.
They were shunted at almost all the stations, to
make way for military trains going to the front,
filled with soldiers cheering and singing. The
passengers got out, and the wounded were attended
to, sometimes on the roadside, sometimes at the
stations. At Meaux there was an ambulance of
the Croix Rouge, the nurses dressing the wounds,
giving food to the soldiers and refugees, children
frightened and crying.

The whole party were exhausted when they
got to Paris, but a night's sleep restored them,
and they started the next morning for Tours by
automobiles.

I was glad to see them out of Paris, which was

112 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

no place for children, with the great heat and
Tauben going- about. I wanted to come straight
down here. I had a feeling of shirking responsi-
bility, and leaving the village to its fate, which was
very disagreeable to me ; but all my friends pro-
tested vigorously ; besides, I could not get a pass
to go directly into the fighting zone. I was very
uncomfortable, but there was nothing to be done.
I heard nothing for weeks, but gathered from the
communiques, and the few people one saw who
knew anything, that fierce fighting was going on
in that part of the country — chateaux, houses,
and villages sacked and burnt. It wasn't possible
we should escape with our house standing so
invitingly on the highroad.

About the end of September we heard, through
a friend who had been there, that our house was
completely sacked, the four walls standing, but
everything taken out *of it.

We had gone to the country, to a quiet little
village in the Sarthe, for three weeks, but as soon
as I got to Paris I determined to come down
here. It wasn't easy — impossible by rail, as the
bridges were blown up and no private conveyances
were allowed on the road. I applied to Ambassador
Herrick, who, as usual, did all he could to help
me, and gave me one of his automobiles with
a young American officer as escort, Lt. G. I
asked the Tiffanys to come too, as they had
stayed so recently at Mareuil, and Olive and
Charlotte had moved all the furniture and pictures
and rearranged the rooms. We started about
9.30, couldn't get a sauf-conduit all the way
to Mareuil, only to the next village, but Lt.

MEAUX 113

G. said he would certainly bring us here, and he
did. The journey from Paris to Meaux was
almost normal, except for the absolute lack of
traffic or movement of any kind. There were
the same long- stretches of straight white roads,
bordered with rows of poplars which always
mark the highroads in France. Nothing passing
but military autos, long trains of munition and
provision wagons, and ambulances with wounded
soldiers. The villages were empty, a few very
old men, women, and children standing in the
doorways or at the well, the resort of all the
women in the country when they want to gossip
a little. No one in the fields, no sign of life, and
above all, no sounds of life. No loud talking, nor
singing, nor whistling.

Meaux looked just the same, the beautiful old
cathedral untouched, and the old mills on the
river intact. I was afraid they had gone. They
are so picturesque, built on a bridge. Every one
goes to see them ; they are quite a feature of
Meaux. The other bridges were destroyed.

About half-way between Meaux and Mareuil
we began to see signs of fighting ; all the big trees
down, their branches blown off, lying on the road
— roofless houses, holes and gaps in stone walls,
fields cut up and trampled over, barricades across
the roads, trenches and mounds in the fields, a
few dead horses. Soldiers everywhere, the whole
road guarded.

We were stopped once or twice, but the officer's
pass and the Embassy carriage were all-powerful,
and we came straight to our gates. From the
outside one saw nothing changed. The four

114 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

walls were intact, the iron gates standing, but
inside. . . .

We had not been able to send word to the con-
cierge, neither telegraph nor telephone worked
(don't yet for civilians), and the post was most
irregular. She heard the auto and came to the
gates, not knowing who it was. The poor woman
looked twenty years older. She and her son, a
boy of eighteen, had gone away with all the village.
Sometimes a farmer's wife would give her a lift,
but mostly she walked, for miles, weary and foot-
sore, sleeping in the fields, under the hedges, occa-
sionally in a barn ; no clothes but what they had
on their backs, and hardly anything to eat, fright-
ened to death, seeing a Uhlan in every creature
that passed, and tormenting herself as to what
was going on at home. She was so agitated at
first that I could do nothing with her — assuring
me that she had not deserted the place, that she
only left when all the village did. I comforted
her as well as I could. After all I had not come
down myself to set the example, and could not
expect others to do what /didn't do.

We began our tournee d'inspection at once.
In the garage Jean Sallandrouze's auto had been
taken, ours left, but smashed. It seemed they
could not make it go at once, so they broke it.
They had also left a light trotting wagon.

The inside of the house was a desolation. It
had been cleaned — four women working hard.
Mme. G. said the dirt and smells were something
awful. The bedding was in a filthy state. For
twenty-four hours after they had begun to clean,
they couldn't eat anything. "Si Madame avait

GERMAN BRUTALITIES 115

vu la salete, jamais plus Madame n'aurait mis
pied a la maison ! "

Perhaps it is just as well that Madame didn't
see all, as the actual state was bad enough.

She had sent me by a messenger a first state-
ment of what was missing. Everything in the
kitchen (except the range, which they couldn't
move), twenty-nine lamps, china, silver, forks,
spoons, and a tea-pot that were forgotten in the
hurry of moving, glass, sheets, and blankets, cover-
lids, pillows, rugs, pictures, old English engrav-
ings, family miniatures, linen — all my son's and
daughter's clothes ; and what they did not take
they spoilt. A satin dress and lace dress of C.'s
on the floor with great cuts in them.

They evidently were of a practical turn of mind
— took all the useful, solid things, cloth dresses,
cloaks, two excellent Burberry waterproofs, canes.
They took the billiard-balls, broke most of the
cues, but did not break the table — neither the
piano, an Erard grand. I rather expected to
see it standing out in the fields, as some of my
friends found theirs.

In the drawing-room chairs and tables were
broken, drawers pulled out, their contents scattered
over the floor, quantities of papers and letters
torn. I hadn't time that day to verify— put them
all in a box upstairs.

Mme. G. had left two rooms, C.'s boudoir and
Francis' dressing-room, just as she found them
when she came back after her ten days' wandering.
The flours were covered up to our ankles with papers
and books. In some of the books pages were torn
i »ut in the middle — such useless, wanton destruction.

116 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

I had no time to look into everything, but of
course I went all over the house. Some of the
hiding-places had not been discovered. We found
the silver and some old china just where C. had
hidden it. It seems the officers slept in the
house, the men on straw in the garage. The
names Schneider, Reisnach, etc., were written on
the doors of the bedrooms, and on the shutters of
the drawing-room, in German writing, "Geschafts-
zimmer" — with the names and number of the
regiment. In another part, "zwanzig Manner."
I told Mme. G. to leave the writing so that when
Francis comes back — if he comes back — he can
see in what state the Germans left his house.

After we had been through the house, Mme.
G- weeping alongside of me, and telling me all
she had gone through, we went into the garden,
which was too awful. They had kept their horses
there. Lawns and flower-beds all trampled over and
destroyed, a few climbing roses left on the walls.

It was a beautiful day, a clear blue sky, yet all
the time we seemed to hear the rumbling of thunder.
I said to the young officer : " How extraordinary to
hear thunder with that cloudless summer sky ! "
"Don't you know what it is, Madame? — cannon
— about twenty miles away."

I had visits from the cure, the mayor, and one
of the conseillers municipaux — all full of their
exodus and the weary days and nights of tramping
along the road.

No other house in the village seems to have
been treated like mine — except the poor peasants',
where they stole and broke everything, When a
French peasant marries, his first investment is a

WANTON DESTRUCTION 117

large wooden bedstead and armoire, which is the
pride of his heart. These the Boches couldn't
carry away, but they broke them up for firewood,
and carried off every poor little pot and pan they
possessed.

The women are sleeping on straw. I made a
turn in the village, went into the two shops.
Nothing left — empty shelves, the floors still covered
with the remnants of broken pots of cereals, pates,
dried fruit, grains of all kinds, the entire stock
of a country shop. The women were standing
about helplessly, not knowing what to do.

I saw a pile of berets and jerseys in one corner ;
was surprised they had left anything so useful ;
when I touched them they all fell apart, had been
cut and slashed in every direction — again such
useless destruction.

No harm was done to the church, a fine old
twelfth-century specimen, and no houses burned
nor shelled. The outside intact everywhere, but
everything gone inside.

The mayor was very blue, and I don't know
how we shall get through the winter with all these
women and children, with no work nor money,
and no clothes.

\Yc started back about 5 o'clock, so as not to
be too late on the road, and the impression was
melancholy ; such intense stillness, as if the war-
cloud was hanging low over us. We met three
or four farm-wagons between Mareuil and Meaux,
with women and children, and odd bits of furniture
— poor people going back sadly to their homes.

It was tragic to see some of the villages we
passed through Vareddes, May, etc. — the black,

118 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

roofless cottages told their own tale, as well as
the mounds in the fields where many soldiers are
buried. Little is left of the peaceful, happy little
hamlets we know so well ; no more women standing
smiling at the doors of their cottages, nor men
ploughing the fields with their fine teams of big
white oxen — utter desolation everywhere !

I promised to come down again as soon as pos-
sible, but I could not manage it until to-day : now I
can add to my earlier account of the havoc wrought.
I could not come alone ; was obliged to wait until
I could find some one willing to go into the "war
zone," and was not sure if the railway would
accept the quantity of luggage I would have.
Everything had to be brought from Paris. I
couldn't come by our usual line, the Est, as the
bridges are not yet mended, and the journey was
much longer by the Nord. I went to the Gare
du Nord, and had some difficulty in getting the
necessary information. I found a capable, intelli-
gent woman, however (there are, of course,
numbers of women employed at all the gares, as
the men have all gone). She was much interested
in my journey down to a village which had been
devastated by the Germans, and we found that
I could take as much luggage as I wanted, if
I could get a sauf-conduit, which she seemed to
think doubtful.

I did have some trouble with the Commissaire
de Police in Paris, who didn't at all want to give me
a sauf-conduit, and was not satisfied with my pieces
d'identite. I hadn't got my certificat de manage,
which is at Mareuil. When he finally made up
his mind that I was Mme. Waddington, he still

COLLECTING STORES 119

hesitated to give me the sauf-conduit. "Mais,
Madame, pourquoi aller a Mareuil ; it is absolutely
in the zone militaire ; it is no place for women — it
is not really reasonable to go there." And when I
insisted again on going: "But why do you want
to go just now?" "Because, Monsieur, I live
there ; my house has been completely sacked, so
has the entire village. I must go down and take
clothes and provisions to the poor people."

That mollified him a little, and he made out
the paper, grumbling to himself all the time, saying
when he finally handed it to me: "I really ought
not to give it to you. It is no time for women
to travel about in that part of the country — and
at your age."

YVe started this morning. Maggie, the boys'
English nurse, who is now nursing at the American
Ambulance, and an Englishman, one of our humble
friends, out of place for the moment, and very glad
to do any odd job. He speaks French well,
having lived many years in Paris. We had two
cabs — Barling in one, with piles of bundles and
cases around him, as we had to take down every-
thing— among others, a large case of Quaker oats,
which Dr Watson sent me, a basket of china,
another of groceries, two big bundles of blankets
and linen ; a trunk of clothes which friends had
sent me, also one from my ouvroir. Maggie and
I in another, with a bundle of clothes Mrs Watson
had sent me from her ouvroir, cartons with lamps
and shades, a basket of vegetables, another of
saucepans and kitchen things, a valise of knives and
forks and spoons, and a hold-all full of things sent
at the last moment — bandages, woollen socks, etc.

i

120 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

There was a great crowd at the station. The
Belgian refugees are still there in one of the covered
courts, where couchettes, a sort of bed made of
planks, and covered with rugs and blankets, had
been arranged, and big marmites to cook their
food. People flock to see them, bringing them
clothes and food.

There was a great deal of confusion, as there
was not half the usual number of porters — soldiers
everywhere. Everyone made way for Nanna in
her nurse's dress, and the porters were much
interested in the ladies who were taking down
food and clothes to one of the ruined villages.

It has been a beautiful day, clear and warm,
and the route through the Villers-Cotterets forest
was lovely. We went very slowly, stopping at
every station, a long crowded train. We had a
long wait, two hours at Ormoy, in the heart of
the forest. From there to Mareuil there were
traces of war everywhere — almost all the little
forest stations completely wrecked, roofs off, no
doors nor windows, nothing but the four walls
half tumbling down.

They are repairing now as much as they can,
but it is difficult to get workmen ; the soldiers
give a helping hand when they can. I should
have thought some of the Belgians would have
been glad of the work, but there are few able-
bodied men among the refugees ; they are all old,
old men.

Mareuil is occupe militairement — soldiers at the
gare, and a poste on the highroad, just at the
entrance of the village. They stopped me and
wanted to know where I was going, and who I

A PITIABLE SIGHT 121

was, but the brigadier de gendarmerie, who was
lodged at our house, and had seen me at the
station, hurried up and explained.

Mme. G. had not received my letter, and was
much flustered at the arrival of three people.
However, it was quite early in the afternoon —
2.30. She had plenty of time to make fires (it
was not at all cold — a bright, beautiful sun), and
beds, and prepare our dinner.

I walked about the garden while they were
unpacking. The lawns are entirely cut up ; horses
were tethered there. The flower-beds quite spoilt ;
but there was one bed of chrysanthemums left —
some of the big yellow ones, which gave quite
a touch of colour and life to the wasted garden.

The dining-room and fumoir were fairly comfort-
able though very bare ; still there were chairs and
tables. I dined alone and am finishing my evening
in my own room. The stillness and darkness are
oppressive. There is not a light in the village or
station — no trains passing — not a sound on the
road. I am haunted by the thought of those
brutes in our house.

Markuu, Friday, 6/// November.

It has been a beautiful bright, mild day —
extraordinarily clear, hardly any mist on the hills
and woods. One sees a great distance. I have
had a procession of visitors — first the cure with a
list of the most miserable people, and all day the
women and children. It is a pitiable sight. They
have no clothes but what they stand in, as they
went away at very short notice, and could only
take -1 very few things tied up in bundles (which

122 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

some threw away en route, as they could not
carry them).

There is nothing left of their cottages but the
four walls. The village houses are all stone, not
easy to burn. But the Germans took all they
could carry off, and destroyed what they couldn't
take — broke furniture, chairs, tables, all the beds.
The women sleep on straw and club together to
make their soup in a marmite, like the soldiers.
They have no clothes. When the woman washes
her chemise, she lies in bed (on the straw) until it
dries. One of them said to me : "Would Madame
please give her a casserole" (saucepan)? " Vous
etes bonne, ma fille. Les Allemands m'ont pris
toutes les miennes ; je suis arrived avec deux ou
trois dans ma poche pour faire ma cuisine ici ! "

Some of the boys — strong, handsome boys often
and twelve — had nothing on but the linen jacket
they went away in (it was warm, beautiful summer
weather when they left) and no shirt nor tricot, the
jacket over their bare skin. Thanks to my friends
and my ouvroir, I can supply the first necessities,
but to clothe a whole village requires time and
money.

All the afternoon we spent going over the house
and seeing what was left. They seem to have
made a clean sweep of all the small things that
accumulate in a house — pens, pencils, scissors,
frames, pincushions, fancy boxes and bags. Some
of the trunks in the garret are untouched. They
were locked, but of course could easily have
been forced open. All the silver things that had
not been hidc'en have gone, inkstands, frames,
vases.

PILLAGE AT MAREUIL 123

The concierge has lost everything, even her
wedding- wreath carefully preserved under a glass.

I went into the billiard-room and salon, opening
the windows wide to let in the last rays of the
sun. In the salon drawers pulled out and broken
— books taken — great gaps in the rows — music
torn and scattered over the Moor, but the piano
not hurt. I tried to play a little in the twilight,
but it makes me so homesick for the children ;
I seemed to hear their little voices singing their
Christmas carols ; and always saw that awful
German writing on the shutters, " Geschafts-
zimmer" — but I must leave it for Francis to see.

We still hear 'he cannon, but more faintly. I
don't feel now as if ever I could be gay or happy
again in the place, but perhaps that feeling will
pass when the war is over, and 'the troops are
marching home again with gay and gallant tread "

— but when ?

Mareuil,

Saturday, 7th November 19 14.

It was foggy but not cold ihis morning. I
walked about the village a little after breakfast ;
always the same story of pillage and misery.
Most of the women and children have no clothes
left, and no money to buy any. Everybody was
very sad, as a funeral service was going on for
one of the village boys, twenty years old, a little
shepherd, tue a l'ennemi. Of course we all think
of our own at the front, and hardly dare to pray
that they may come back.

Th- cure has made me a first list of a hundred
children, ranging from one year old to twelve, boys
and girls, all wanting warm clothes. I found some

124 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

flannel in the village which will make shirts and
petticoats ; that will give the women something
to do ; they will be glad to earn a little money ;
and it will be easier for me than buying the things
in Paris, particularly as they don't send anything
yet by rail.

We had sent for a carriage from Thomas at
La Ferte, but at 3 o'clock nothing had come, and
after 6 no equipages are allowed to circulate. We
tried to find one in the village, but there are
scarcely any horses left. Finally the farmer next
door lent us his little country dog-cart, and we
started off with our sauf-conduit. Nanna and I
sat behind, and Barling in front with a package
of hospital sheets and bandages.

The road was absolutely deserted except for
military automobiles, and there were soldiers
everywhere. It was really dark when we got to
La Ferte at 4 o'clock, and I was rather worrying
over our return, as we had no lights. La Ferte" is
quite changed. I should never have recognised
the dull little provincial town, with no movement
of any kind except on market-day, when a few
carts were drawn up on the mall, and the neigh-
bouring farmers jogged along on their funny old-
fashioned cabriolets. Now it is full of soldiers ;
cannon and munition - wagons on the mall ; the
bridge over the canal blown up and replaced by
a temporary rickety wooden structure. The shops
were open and lighted, I should think doing good
business.

I had some difficulty in getting some petroleum.
I was received with enthusiasm ; everybody wanted
to talk, to tell me their experiences and to hear

AT LA FERT6 125

mine. The town had suffered very little during
the German occupation, thanks to the cure, the
Abbe Detigne, who remained all the time, and
certainly saved the town by his courage and
coolness.

I went to the Presbytere to see him. He was
out, but his sister told me she would find him in
the town and send him to the Hotel- Dieu. I
went there to see the sisters and leave my parcels,
stopping on the way at the butcher's to buy a
i^igot, as I had asked our cure to dinner. I had
>i nice talk with the sisters, who asked me if I
would give them some wool as they have taught
the girls to knit socks, but can't get any wool in
the country. They had only a few wounded
Germans. 'Madame voudrait les voir?" No,
Madame didn't feel as if she could see a German,
coming directly from Mareuil where they worked
such havoc. The old Mere Superieure did not
insist; merely remarked: " Ce sont des soldats,
Madame, qui font leur devoir comme les notres."
It is quite true — all the same I didn't want to see
them.

The abb£ came in just as we were starting.
He was very preoccupied about our return in the
dark, along the lonely road, with a child driving,
and wanted us to stay the night at the Presbytere
— couldn't imagine that it was possible to stay at
Mareuil ; at any rate we had better dine with him.
He evidently thought I had no shelter or food,
and nothing to cook it in if I had any. However,
I reassured him ; told him we had our dinner in
the cart, and the cure de Mareuil was coming to
dine with me. All I wanted was a lantern. The

126 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

sisters procured me one, and wanted to give me
hot wine and biscuits to eat on the way — but that
was really not necessary, as it is not more than
eight kilometres and the road was fairly good —
not too much cut up.

It was a mild evening, a little damp, but we
had warm cloaks, and Barling held the lantern up
high, swung on a cane. It was pitch-dark, nothing
on the road except military automobiles, which
dashed by at full speed, their great lanterns lighting
up the road for a few seconds. No one molested
us, nor asked for our papers, though we didn't get
home until 7 o'clock.

Mme. G., rather anxious, was at the gate.
The cure came to dinner, and he sat afterward for
about an hour in the fumoir, and he told me of
their hurried flight from Mareuil, and the fatigues
of the journey, the whole party sleeping in the
fields, under haystacks, with very little to eat or
drink, hardly daring to stop at night for five or six
hours to rest, for fear of being caught by the
Germans. In some of the villages the Germans
forced the fugitives they met on the road to go
back to work for them. One poor old man in our
village was not quick enough, nor strong enough
to carry some wood. They pricked him with the
bayonet, telling him he wouldn't die yet ; he would
live long enough to become a German.

The inhabitants of the village were away for
thirteen days, wandering along the roads, de-
lighted when they could get a bundle of straw in
a barn to sleep on.

WITHIN SOUND OF CANNON 127

MAREUIL, Sunday, 8/// November.

I didn't go to church as the service was early,
8 o'clock, but I walked about the village and found
more flannel and cotton which I can leave here.
The women can make chemises and petticoats for
themselves. The poor people look dreadfully
depressed without work or money. It is very
difficult to know how to help them. However,
I promised to come down about Christmas and
bring some warm clothes. I would like to start
a knitting" class, but the cure tells me so few people
knit.

We leave at 2.30. I have made an exhaustive
tour in the garden with the boy and the gardener
who works for us occasionally. It must all be dug
up ; lawns, flower-beds — and in the spring, if the
Germans are out of France, we will see what can
be done. As long as they are so near us there is
no use doing anything, as they will certainly burn
and ruin all they can as they leave.

I couldn't find out anything about the people in
the neighbourhood in the different chateaux. It
is a curious feature in this war, no one knows
anything about any one. Unless you are in the
country and pass a house or farm that was burned
or knocked to pieces, no one knows.

The cannon was loud and incessant this
morning. I ask myself all the time : Am I really
;it Mareuil, our quiet little village, or is it all a bad
dream 2 Ah, what a wicked war!

128 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Paris, Thursday, 12th November.

We got back Sunday, to dinner. A tiring-
journey, and I must have caught cold as I have
been stiff and rather miserable ever since. Didn't
go to the ouvroir until to-day. Mr Mygatt has
brought over excellent stuffs and wool from
London, better and cheaper than anything he can
get here. The big room looked very business-like
with its piles of cloth and flannel. Mme. del
Marmol brought us a doctor (soldier) who was
starting a field-hospital near Chalons, just behind
the last line of trenches. He came to ask for help
for his hospital. " What do you want ? " we asked
him. "Everything," was his prompt reply; and
we made him two enormous bundles with every-
thing we had in stock, from sleeping-bags to socks.
Unfortunately we had no hospital stores, but he
thought he could get them from the Croix Rouge.
He helped make the packages, kneeling down on
the floor, and carried them off in a cab.

The righting is terrible on the Yser, the Germans
attacking furiously, making no progress ; but the
loss of life on both sides is awful. They say the
Yser runs red with blood in some parts. The
lines of the Scottish poet, Thomas Campbell,
about the Bavarian Iser, which I learned as a
child, come back to me all the time :

"On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly."

PETITES SCEURS DES PAUVRES 129

Paris, Tuesday, \~th November.

It has been a bright, beautiful day, just enough
crispness in the air to remind one that autumn
was coming to an end. It was really a pleasure
to be out. I always walk over to the ouvroir. It
takes one about twenty minutes. Little by little
the shops are opening-, quite a number in the rue
de la Beotie. Almost all, except the grocers and
bakers, have soldiers' things : waistcoats, jerseys,
passe-montagnes of every description. We are
always looking for models of the simplest kind,
with as few buttons, strings, and pockets as
possible.

The equipment of our poilus is much simpler
than that of the Tommies. Some of the older,
old-fashioned French officers are astounded at the
baggage which follows the British army.

About 3 o'clock I went with the Mygatts to
one of the hospitals of the Petites Sceurs des
Pauvres, in the rue Lafayette. Cardinal Amette,
the Archbishop of Paris, was coming to see the
wounded. We took over ten of our paquets
militaires and bundles of pansements, as the
hospital is very poor. The sisters have given up
their beds. They had so few extra ones.

The paquets are very good, shirt, drawers,
jerseys, socks, and passe-montagne, a sort of
helmet which goes over the kepi, and protects the
back of the neck ; everything in wool. We prefer
to give fewer things but in good quality. It is
useless to send cotton to men in the trenches.

There was quite a stir in the street when we
arrived at our destination. The church at the

130 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

end of a long narrow court, with its big doors
open, the altar brilliantly lighted ; the body of
the church dark, outlines of kneeling figures just
visible ; quite a number of people waiting at the
door of the convent.

The Cardinal came very punctually. (It was
a pleasure to see the red cap and robes.) He is a
good-looking man, tall, rather the military type —
spoke charmingly to the Mere Superieure, who
was waiting at the door — and went with her into
all the wards, speaking to each man. A Sen6-
galais convalescent, black as ink, standing in
the row of white beds, was a curious sight. I don't
think he understood anything the Cardinal said,
but he smiled and showed all his dazzling white
teeth.

The Cardinal said he would come and benir
notre ouvroir.

Mrs Herrick came in late and was charming,
always so ready to help and doing it all so simply.
She thinks they will go soon, but I can't think the
Government could make such a mistake.

Paris, Thursday, \^th November.

I had a line from Mrs Herrick last night
saying they were leaving on the 28th. It doesn't
seem possible. I went to the Embassy after
breakfast ; there were several people there, all
much disturbed by the Ambassador's sudden
departure. He was quite smiling and composed.
I think he is deeply sorry to go while things are
in such a serious state. He has been so interested
in France and all she has been going through in

THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE 131

those tragic months that it will be a wrench to
leave it all just now. Of course, once the break
is made and he has got back to America, he will
find so much to do that France and the war will
gradually recede into the past.

I think Mrs Herrick is glad to go back to her
children and grandchildren, though she enjoyed
the life in France. They have made quantities
of friends over here.

Paris, Sunday, 22nd November.

Another enchanting day. I walked about a
little after church and sat on a bench in the
avenue de l'Alma, and talked to three wounded
soldiers who were sitting there in the sun. They
all had crutches, but told me they were getting
better, and none had lost arms or legs. They
had all been wounded at the battle of the Marne ;
were not in the least discouraged, and were pining
to get back and have another shot at the Boches.
One of them, with quite an educated voice and
language, said: "They thought they were going
to get Paris, Madame! They will never have it,
our beautiful Paris. They would have to walk
over bodies, not only of soldiers, but of women
and children, before they could get in ! "

One or two passers-by stopped and joined in
the conversation, and we ended by discussing
the battle of the Marne: "A miracle," some one
said.

It is astonishing the camaraderie this war has
brought about ; everybody talks to everybody ; and

rybody helps.

132 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Paris, Monday, zyd November.

I lunched at the U.S. Embassy this morning,
and went afterward with the Ambassadress to
the American Ambulance, where I had given
rendezvous to two French ladies, Duchesse de T.
and Princess d'A., who wanted very much to see
it. They made a most thorough inspection, and
were delighted with the order and beautiful cleanli-
ness of everything. The big ward looked most
cheerful, brightly lighted. The rows of beds
spotlessly clean and tidy. All the nurses in white,
many ladies we know ; some professionals, and
quite a number of young men of society who were
unable for some reason or other to join the army,
but were anxious to do something to help. They,
too, were in white, the regular infirmier's dress,
and the wounded seemed quite at ease with them,
evidently liked to have them about.

I talked a little to two young Irishmen, each of
whom had lost a leg. They were quite smiling
and ready to talk. Sometimes it is not easy to
make conversation ; the men are shy or tired.
The doctor asked me if I would go into one of the
small rooms where there were some grands blesses
— four in one room. I didn't want to, very much,
as I am very impressionable, and could do nothing
to help them — but I didn't like to refuse. Two
of the men buried their faces in their pillows,
evidently didn't want to be talked to, and the
others tried with such a pitiful smile to answer
and be grateful for our sympathy ; but what can
one say to them.

We went down afterward to the tea-room.

THANKSGIVING DAY 133

Every afternoon, three or four ladies provide tea
and cakes for the nurses and various functionaries
of the Ambulance. We found the tea-room quite
full of white -aproned nurses and infirmiers, and
big, burly chauffeurs of automobiles, and three or
four boy scouts. The ladies behind the long
table were kept very busy, and teapots and plates
of buns and good heavy substantial plum cakes
were being constantly replenished.

My French friends were much interested in the
hospital. Such abundance of everything, so much
given, and so wonderfully light and clean. No
detail escaped them, not even a corner of a
corridor, where some women were washing and
preparing green vegetables.

PARIS, Thursday, Thanksgiving Day.

I went to church, as I feel I have much to be
thankful for, in this awful year which has brought
mourning to so many homes. We had a quiet
dinner — very unlike our Thanksgiving dinners at
Mareuil, where we had always that day a regular
American menu : Turkey, cranberry sauce and
pumpkin pie for those who liked it. No French
of any category ever tasted the pie. They are
just as conservative about their food as they are
in everything else, and only eat what they are
accustomed to.

I wonder what next Thanksgiving will bring
us. France has held her own wonderfully, so
far, and has shown such quiet, steady determina-
tion, besides her splendid fighting qualities.

There must be so many changes all over the

134 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

world after the war, and surely a change of
mentality. The men who have fought such an
awful fight, and the women who have lived through
the suspense and trials of these terrible days, can
never shake off those memories and take up the
old, easy life again.

Paris, Friday, 2'jf/i November.

I had a long afternoon at the ouvroir. We had
a great many soldiers, and some of the older men
looked sad! It is terrible for the men of the
pays evacues. They have been for months with-
out news of their families.

I went later to say good-bye to the Herricks,
who leave to-morrow. Their salon was full of
people, all deploring their departure. I waited
until nearly 8 o'clock to see the Ambassador, but
he didn't come in. I walked home in the dark,
thinking regretfully that I should never cross
their hospitable threshold again. . . .

Paris, Tuesday, ist December.

Quiet day at the ouvroir. We are getting
through a great deal of work, and have at last
arranged to get our wool and stuffs from England.
Here everything is hors prix, and besides, taken by
the Government. One of my friends went to buy
some wool the other day, and would have taken
a large amount, but while the woman was getting
it together, two men with military brassards
on their arms came in and forbade the woman
to give it. They took all she had for the army.
My friend remonstrated, saying she too wanted

INDER MARTIAL LAW 135

hers fur the soldiers, but they wouldn't let her
have any. It is comfortable in one way being
under martial law. One feels so absolutely
protected, but there is no appeal possible if they
tell you a thing can't be.

I found a telegram from Charlotte when I came
home this evening. Francis' regiment is ordered
to the front. She and the boys come to Paris on
Thursday.

Rue de la Pompe,
Paris, Thursday, $rd December.

It seems strange to be here again in my apart-
ment, but I can't leave Charlotte quite alone. I
have divided my time between here and the rue
de la Tremoille. C. and the boys arrived at 7
o'clock. I went to the Gare St Lazare to meet
them. They all look perfectly well ; boys splendid.
We sent the luggage straight up here, and dined
at la Tremoille with Henrietta. The boys have
grown so much older, with so much to tell They
had seen the regiment start, and " Papa armc with
his rifle and revolver!" Poor little things! they
have seen so much sadness since the beginning
of the war. The regiment is at Aulnay, near
Paris, for a lew days only, en route for the front.
Where, they don't know — Belgium, I suppose.

I thnk we shall be comfortable here. We
shan't use the salon and my room, but live all
together in Francis' part, where we each have a
bedroom, with dining-room and fumoir.

K

136 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Rue la Tremoille,
Paris, Friday, \th December.

We all lunched here and went afterward to
the ouvroir, where we had the visit of Cardinal
Amette, Archbishop of Paris. We had asked
several ladies who knew him to come: Duchesse
de Trevise, Comtesse de B., Comtesse de B — nes,
etc. He wis quite charming". Two or three
priests came with him, and he looked at our
stuffs and was so simple and interested in every-
thing" ; said, as every one does, that the soldiers
needed warm things. He spoke very nicely to
the women, all soldiers' wives and refugees, who
were working in one of the rooms. It was nice
of him to come, as he has so much to do. I was
so glad to see the red robes again. They always
recall Rome and the happy days there — so long
ago — when I think that we all saw Pio Mono.

Rue de la Pompe,
Paris, Monday, 7th December.

The boys began school this morning. Charlotte
went with Mrs Mygatt to see about some stuffs
for the ouvroir. She had a telegram from Francis
asking her to come and see him at Aulnay. She
went off about 3.30. It is close to Paris — would
take about half an hour by train in ordinary
times, but the service is very irregular — so many
employees are at the front, and the passenger
trains are constantly stopped to let troops pass.

I came up here after the ouvroir and dined
with the boys. C. came in about 9.30; said

VISIT TO AULNAV 137

Francis was very well, had a very nice room, and
wanted us to go and see him to-morrow. We can
only go late as women are not supposed to go
out there, but after dark no one pays much
attention, and the officers shut their eyes. It is
so near Paris, only an hour by train, that they
would certainly have not only the soldiers' wives,
but women of a certain class, which would not
be desirable.

Paris, Tuesday, Sfk December.

We had two hours with Francis to-day. C. and
I took the 4 o'clock train, stopping at a patissier's
on the way to buy two large tarts for the mess
of the sous-officiers. Soldiers are such children.
They always want bonbons and cakes, cigarettes,
or picture papers. We were in a very long train,
had German prisoners on board, the first I have
seen. They got off at Le Bourget. Quite a
crowd assembled on the platform to see them
pass as they walked down guarded by a few
French fantassins.

The men looked young — tired, but their uni-
forms were clean — didn't look as if they had been
fighting lately. Nobody said anything or made
a hostile demonstration of any kind. There was
absolute silence.

Francis met us at the station as it was dark.
It was the first time I had seen him in uniform.
He looked very well, very sombre ; wears no longer
the red culotte. All the men at the front wear
dark blue, even the buttons of his coat were dark.
He took us to his room in the only hotel near the
station, where he had made himself very comtori-

138 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

able, and was on the best of terms with his
patronne. He gave us tea and chocolate. The
patronne made us very good toast, and smiled
all over when he complimented her on her tea.
We had a nice white nappe. There were only
two chairs in the room, so Francis sat on the bed.
He was very cheerful, said there was no chance of
his getting to Paris. We hoped he might have
come for Christmas. He didn't think they would
stay long at Aulnay. Had no idea where they
would go. He is so pleased to get to the front and
see something of the fighting. It was nice to see
him again. He looked well, but older and graver.
We left about 7. The streets of the little place
were full of soldiers and their wives, who apparently
had managed to get out to the regiment.

Paris, Thursday, 10th December.

I was at the ouvroir all the afternoon. C. took
the boys out to Aulnay. While we were at dinner
she came in, looking rather white and upset.
Regiment ordered to the front, somewhere between
Rheims and Soissons ; starts to-morrow morning,
4 o'clock.

Francis and Charlotte went shopping at Aulnay.
He had to buy himself flannel shirts and drawers
as his things were at the wash. Poor little Willy
was quite nervous and tearful, as his father told
him he was going to the front ; might never come
back, and that he must be very good and take
care of his mother and little brother and D. How
many soldier-fathers all over France have said
the same thing to their boys!

BACK TO MAREUIL 139

Paris, Monday, 14th December.

We have decided to go down to Mareuil,
Charlotte, the boys, and I, on the 18th. I have
written to Mme. Gaillard to have the house well
warmed. We shall take down a provision of warm
clothes. Thanks to our friends, we have been able
to get a lot of things.

Paris, Wednesday, 16/// December.

We were very busy at the ouvroir fitting- out
the children of Mareuil. We have very long lists
from the cure and the schoolmistress. When I
went over just now, I found Charlotte established
in one of the small rooms, and surrounded by
piles of coats, costumes, dresses, petticoats, shirts,
drawers, socks of all sizes, from a baby of eight
weeks to an old woman of ninety-five. Mile.
Jeanne was sorting the things and pinning tickets
with the names on the garments. Our bundles
will be huge, but Mr M. has lent us his auto-
camion, which will take the things from door to
door.

Paris, Thursday, 17th December.

We filled the camion this afternoon, as the man
wants to start early to-morrow morning. The
boys wildly excited, helping put in the packages,
and suggesting that they should go, too, in the
camion.

Mareuil,
Friday, 18M December 1914.

1 am writing at night. Although it is only
10 o'clock, the whole household is wrapped in

140 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

slumber, as we have had a tiring day. We left
Paris, Charlotte, her boys, the maid, and I, at
9.30, still with a fair amount of packages, pro-
visions mostly, as Mme. Gaillard wrote us we
could not get anything at Mareuil but bread,
butter, and apples. She thought the butcher from
La Fert6 would come when he knew we were
there, but wasn't sure.

We had a tiring journey, a long, cold wait at
Onnoy ; and the boys were much impressed by
the various traces of the war. In one field we
saw three graves with a little French flag to mark
the spot. A little farther on, quite a row with a
cross made of sticks at one end. They looked so
lonely in the middle of the bare field.

From Ormoy to Mareuil, at almost all the
stations, roofs were off, the houses — doors and
windows gone — bare walls. We got to Mareuil
about 2 o'clock. Of course Mme. G. hadn't
received either letter or telegram, but the camion
had arrived and prepared them for our coming.
It was so much more convenient to load it
directly at the ouvroir. We had no trouble
about trunks, or tickets, or weighing. Bundles
of all kinds and sizes were crammed into the
car; some blankets and thick coats just tied up
with a string, as the auto went from door to
door. We loaded it yesterday afternoon late at
the ouvroir, and I was quite astonished when all
the packages got in.

The chauffeur, the faithful Marius, had already
unloaded boxes and trunks, which had been carried
into the house. He started straight back, as he
wanted to get into Paris before dark. It was a

CHRISTMAS GIFTS 141

bright, lovely afternoon, and the boys clashed at
once into the garden to see if the Boches had
spoiled their garden and gymnasium. The poor
garden looked awful, all dug up, only two or three
pots of chrysanthemums were left in the tool-
house.

The cure came to tea, and we plunged instantly
into lists : warm clothes, blankets, etc. He had
two hundred and odd children on his list. (He
had been to every cottage in the village to make
sure that no child was left out.) Also about
sixteen or eighteen young mothers, with babies in
their arms, girls and boys up to eighteen — all the
old people. It seemed rather an undertaking to
clothe so many people, but our bundles and trunks
held a great deal.

We decided to make our distribution on Sunday,
as we really needed all day Saturday to sort out
the things ; besides I had promised to go to La
Ferte" in the afternoon to see the Abbe" Detigne,
and take some wool to the sisters. The house was
cold though there were fires everywhere — but such
fires! still no coal, only little blocks and ends of
wood we got from the sawmill, and it has
naturally an empty, uncomfortable look.

We put all the rugs and blankets we possessed
on the beds. There weren't many, as the Germans
had carried everything off.

Mareuil,
Saturday, igfk Decetnber 19 14.

It has been again a lovely day, the sun shining
in at all the windows, showing us more distinctly
even than yesterday all that has been taken. Still

142 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

we are comfortable enough in our corner, and I
suppose ought to be thankful that we have anything
left.

We had people all the morning asking for warm
clothes, and looking, I must say, utterly wretched,
half-starved, and frozen. Our village was not so
perfectly miserable, but some of the refugees from
the environs of Soissons and Rheims were in a
pitiable condition, weary and cold and terror-
stricken. They had been chased out of their
villages, their cottages burned, all the old people,
grandfathers and grandmothers, left to die probably
on the roadside. Even in our village some people
have never come back. No one knows what has
become of them. The children had a frightened
look in their eyes, which was heartrending to see.
The mothers didn't complain ; were very grateful
for anything we gave them, but they all had a
hopeless expression on their faces, a quiet, half-
dazed acceptance of the ruin which had come upon
them.

We breakfasted early and started for La Ferte
before 10 o'clock (we had to have sauf-conduits
from the mayor) in the tapissiere of Bourgeois,
the grocer — a most primitive vehicle, a cart with
a canvas cover, no springs, and very hard, narrow
seats. The cover was so low that Charlotte had
to take off her hat and hang it on a nail on one
side of the curtain. The road looked exactly the
same as when I was here the last time — nothing
passing but military autos, a few officers riding.
At Bourneville there is a sentry-box just outside
the gate; a service de ravitaillement is stationed
there.

DISTRIBUTION OF GIFTS 143

There was a good deal of movement at La
Ferte\ soldiers, cannon, and munition-wagons
everywhere. We went first to the Presbytere to
see the abbe. He wasn't at home, but we saw his
sister, and asked her to tell him we hoped he would
come and lunch with us on Monday. Then we
went to the Hotel- Dieu and left a good package of
clothes and wool with the sisters. The old Mere
Superieure, who has been there for forty years,
was so pleased to see us — told the boys she
remembered their father when he was a baby in
long clothes. She gave them a German knapsack
which they were delighted to have, as they are
making a collection of all the German war material
they can find to make a musee de guerre.

It was lovely coming home; except for the
unnatural quiet — not a sound, no children playing
on the road. The cure came to dinner with a
supplementary list, and we worked hard all the
evening. It was not easy to sort and mark all the
garments. The boys helped at first, sitting on the
floor among the heaps of blankets, rolling them
and pinning on tickets until they were dropping
with sleep !

We have only two bedrooms. I have one, my
own room, and Charlotte and the boys are next to
me. We moved two beds into the room, and they
are quite comfortable.

MAREUIL, Sunday, 20//1 December.

We have made our distribution, and I think
have not only given pleasure, but encouraged the
people. We went to church this morning and the
cure announced from the pulpit that there would

144 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

be a distribution of warm clothes at the chateau
— to which every child in Mareuil was bidden,
also the girls and young men still in the village.
He hoped they would all assemble quietly and
punctually in the courtyard, at a quarter to 3,
directly after vespers.

We had cleared the dining-room, taken every-
thing, carpet, chairs, and tables, out of it, then
opened the folding-doors into the fumoir, and
put a table across. Charlotte stood in the fumoir
behind the table. On one side there was a pile
of clothes which Mme. G. passed to her, telling
her the names. On the other, two large baskets
filled with cakes and chocolates which our maid
and the little lingere from the village distributed.
We couldn't undertake a gouter with hot chocolate
and brioches. We hadn't any cups and saucers
except the few we had brought down with us,
and we couldn't have found a hundred in the
whole village.

By 2.30 the courtyard was filled with children
and their mothers. In fact the whole village —
but we only allowed the children inside.

First came the schoolboys, marshalled by the
cure\ (The schoolmaster is mobilised, but a
youth of nineteen comes every day from a village
near and takes the class.) The boys were rather
shy and awkward ; didn't say much, but I think
they were pleased. Every one got a pair of
trousers or warm cape with a hood, like what they
all wear here. The little ones got a suit, and all
got two cakes and a big piece of chocolate. Then
came the schoolgirls led by the schoolmistress and
her adjointe — about a hundred. They, too, got

GIFTS FOR THE CHILDREN 1 45

each one a dress, cloak, or warm petticoat. Then
they trooped out, and another hundred arrived
— boys and girls mixed — mostly little waifs and
strays — not schoolchildren ; and at the same time
young- mothers with babies in their arms. Then
there was a fine pandemonium. The women
talked, the babies cried ; various children whose
names were on the list didn't appear, and there
were several quite unknown children, refugees, or
from the neighbouring hamlets, who had heard
of the distribution. They were in rags, sorely
needed clothes, and all got something.

Then came boys and girls from twelve to
seventeen. Some of the boys looked like men, so
tall and broad. C. said she felt quite shy offering
them chocolate and cakes, but they all took them.

It was after 5 when the distribution was over.
C. was very tired, having stood ever since break-
fast. She did it very prettily and graciously.
She knew all the children, having had them in the
garden all the month of August. She had organised
a garderie, where the children could come every
day while their mothers were working in the fields,
getting in the harvest. They had games for the
little ones, and the older girls worked at socks
or shirts for soldiers.

The cure announced that the blankets for the
old women would only be distributed the next
day, also the wool for the tricoteuses, who were
told to come at 10 o'clock Monday morning.

The children had all remained in the courtyard,
and there was a fine noise of clattering sabots and
shrill little voices. The air in the dining-room,
with the smell of muddy boots and damp clothes,

146 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

was something awful. We opened all the windows
wide, and dined in the fumoir.

We heard the cannon all the afternoon.

Mareuil, Monday, 2 isf December.

Charlotte had her tricoteuses this morning-
early — about twenty. Of course we supplied the
needles and wool, which was carefully weighed,
each woman receiving the same quantity. Some
of the older ones knew how to knit socks, but
the younger ones were a little unwilling — could
make cache-nez, but that we absolutely refused.
Charlotte was very severe with them ; told them
she didn't know either how to knit stockings until
the war, but she had learned, and now made all
her husband's socks. One of the ladies of the
village said any woman who wanted a lesson
could come to her any day between 1 and 2, and
she would help her- — and Charlotte left a sock as
a model.

The Abbe" Detigne, cure" de la Ferte, came to
breakfast, and was most interesting. He is a
very clever, cultivated man, a good earnest priest,
devoted to his church, but very large-minded,
understanding beliefs he doesn't share, and never
intolerant. He behaved splendidly all through
the German occupation. They had Germans for
ten days at La Ferte\ Almost all the official
people- — Conseil Municipal, percepteur — went
away. The mayor was arrested at once, kept in
prison, and the cure and one conseiller municipal
had all the responsibility. He said on the whole
they behaved well ; but their revolvers were always

PRINCE EITEL FRITZ 147

pointed at one if there was the slightest discussion
or delay.

They began by asking" a ransom of frs. 20,000 —
which the little town couldn't possibly pay. The
cure asked for a little patience, said he would
do what he could, and, escorted by four German
soldiers with fixed bayonets, made the round of
the town, knocking at every door. He got frs.
7000 — with which they were satisfied. He had
soldiers at the Presbytere and in his churches
(there are two fine old churches at La Ferte),
which he asked them to respect, and they did ;
remained at the bottom of the church, didn't go
up to the high altar. He thought once or twice
his last hour had come when some of the officers
either didn't understand all he said (though he
said most of them spoke French well), or were not
satisfied. Instantly the revolver was pointed at
him, and a curt order given to the men. He
waited calmly and bravely, merely thinking that,
if he was to be shot, he would ask to be shot on
the Calvaire, the cross near the woods — which we
all know well — have often sat and rested on the
steps after a walk in the woods — until he heard
the welcome words: "Vous etes libre, Monsieur
le Cure."

The last day, while the soldiers were getting
ready to start, a young officer came in whom
he hadn't seen before. He saw at once that he
was a personage. The men seemed petrified. He
gave a few instructions, then turned to the cure,
drew up an armchair and sat down, saying :
"Causons un peu, Monsieur le Cure" ("Let us
have a chat"), and instantly plunged into a

148 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

discussion on the war. "What do you think of
the war, M. le Cure?" " Monsieur, what do you
expect a priest to say? A war is a wicked thing."

' Yes, but war is war, and you would have it. We
didn't want the war." Then turning to his men :

' That is true, isn't it, my men ? We Germans
didn't want the war; it was forced upon us."
There was a growl of assent from the men. He
then continued: "War always brings horrors,
and misery. Have you any complaints to make
of my men?" "None whatever; they respected
my church, didn't molest the women and children."

' I am glad to hear you say that, M. le CureV'
Then he got up and put out his hand, saying,

'Au revoir"; but that was too much for the
abbe\ ' That, Madame, I could not do — give my
hand to a German. I stood up, looked him full
in the face, and made the salut militaire. He
stepped back, hesitated a moment, and then gave
the military salute, very stiffly, saying, "Je vous
comprend?, Monsieur l'Abbe," turned on his heel,
and left the room.

He heard afterward that it was Prince Eitel
Fritz, whom he had never seen — the first time in
his life, probably, that any one had refused his
hand.

The boys, of course, sat speechless, their eyes
fixed on the abbe. He told us hundreds of details
too long to write ; but said there were no atrocities
nor violence of any kind at La Ferte\ though in
some of the farms and villages near awful things
had been done — but he personally had not seen
any acts of cruelty. He has certainly made a fine
record. When the war is over, all his friends will

GRATITUDE OF THE PEOPLE 149

try to have some public recognition of what he
has done for La Ferte.

After he had gone Charlotte and the boys went
to the poste des gendarmes, and gave them what
we had left in the way of socks. Just as we were
starting for the train we had the visit of an officer
du train de ravitaillement, to thank us for what
we had sent his men. He told us he was the
firbt person to come into our house after the
Germans had left, and that no words could
describe the filth. His men put things into a
little order, and picked up and put in drawers
some of the papers that were lying about.

Among other things that the Germans took
was all the writing-paper stamped " Mareuil-sur-
Ourcq, Oise." I had just got over a lot from
England. One wouldn't think that would be
very useful in Germany!

The cure came in after dinner, and we made
all our arrangements for the women's work,
sewing and knitting. He says the village is very
pleased with our coming down — not only the
material help, but the encouragement. One old
woman, the widow of a carpenter, who had done
much work for us, came to say that she would
cut out the shirts. Her father had been a
chemisier in the rue de la Paix, and she knew all
about it ; would also look over the women's work
and see that it was well done. She wanted no pay
(at our Paris ouvroir we give a tailor 5 sous for
cutting out a shirt), was very happy to do that
for the soldiers. We leave to-morrow, early.

150 OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1914

Paris, Thursday, 24th December.

Charlotte and I went out this morning to do
a little, very little shopping. She won't have a
Christmas tree, which the boys quite understand.
" War times " explains everything. But they have
their creche as usual, as all the animals and rois
mages are there ; and hung up their stockings —
one for father, and we will send him a Christmas
paquet, with a plum-pudding.

Paris, Christmas Day.

I went to an American church this morning.
I felt I must hear " Hark the herald angels sing."
There was quite a large congregation ; several
soldiers in uniform. Our dinner was as cheerful
as it could be under the circumstances. We had
the Sallandrouzes, Madame and Madeleine, Jean
and his wife, the W.'s, and C. and the boys. We
had a small tree in the middle of the table, just
to mark the day. We tried not to miss Francis
too awfully ; choked a little when we drank to
our men at the front. I wonder what next
Christmas will bring us, and how many places
will be empty at the Christmas dinner. But we
mustn't look forward, only be thankful that after
five months of war none of our men are touched.

Paris, Sunday, z*]th December.

It was cold and bright this morning. I went
to the English church in the rue Auguste
Vacquerie. I like Mr Cardew so much — always
stay for his sermons ; they are so simple, suited to
everybody, and yet so scholarly and thought out.

THE END OF 1914 151

Paris, Tuesday, igth December.

The days are so exactly alike. Time slips
by without our realising; how fast it goes. The
English papers are amusing this morning: All
the Tommies so pleased with their plum-puddings
and Christmas gift from the Queen and Princess
Mary.

I am writing late, just to see the old year out.
The street is perfectly quiet and dark. No balls,
no rdveillons. This tragic year finishes in dark-
ness and silence. Certainly if Paris had become
too frivolous and pleasure-loving, she is expiating
it now. The people themselves are so changed.
They are not sad ; that isn't the w.^rd, but serious,
engrossed with the men in the ranks and the
women and children left behind them.

Paris is caring well for all her children. There
are ouvroirs and free meals (very good) every-
where.

JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

Paris, Saturday, 2nd January 19 15.

It was bright and cold this morning". I had an
interesting visit from a Quaker lady, Miss Fellowes,
whom Sir H. Austin Lee sent me. She has come
over with friends to do what good they can to the
civil population of the north of France, and is now
working" in the department of the Aisne, which
has been frightfully devastated. Their religion
forbids them to have anything to do with soldiers,
or the fighters of the world. They will find much
suffering and distress in all the country where
the Germans have passed.

Paris, Friday, 2>th January.

To-day is Willy's tenth birthday. We couldn't
let the day pass without some little rejoicing.
They didn't want a party or any little friends,
but he had his cake and candles, and whatever
money he got was put away for " Papa's soldiers."
Francis begs us to send clothes and blankets for his
regiment whenever we can.

Paris, Sunday, 10th January.

Still no war news. The communiques are very
meagre. I suppose it is right not to give too

152

GERMAN DEMANDS 153

many details, but one long's for something: from
the front.

Two days ago the Germans bombarded Soissons
furiously, and tried to advance to our trenches,
but were beaten back.

I went to tea this afternoon with the Duchesse
de T. Only about eight people. Mines, de B.
and d'A. were there. Neither of them has had
a line from their chateaux or villages since some
time in September. Comte de B. remained in his
chateau — is practically a prisoner there — as he
has a German general with his staff in his house.
He would not leave; sent his wife away, but said
it was his duty to stay in his place and keep his
village from being burned, and the women and
children shot. It has been reported once or twice
that he was shot ; but the news has filtered out
that he is alive. The Germans told him he might
write to his family if he would use a German
stamp, and date his letter " Folambray [the
name of his village], Deutschland," but that he
refused absolutely to do.

In all the countries occupied by the Germans,
they have established their own post-office, and
use German stamps.

The Comtesse d'A.'s chateau is also occupied
by Germans. None of her family are living there.
She is a widow, her two sons in the army.

PARIS, Saturday, \bt/i January 1 9 1 5 .

We had a nice letter from Francis this morning.
II' is getting used to the shells; doesn't mind
them so much. The first two or three times that

154 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

he carried despatches at night over impossible
roads, deafened by the cannon — quite dark ; the
only light the shells bursting all around him — he
didn't like it much, particularly being alone.
When there are two of them it doesn't seem so
awful.

Paris, Monday, i8t/i January.

The cure came to breakfast, giving us all the
Mareuil news. He brought up forty pairs of socks
our tricoteuses had made, and wanted more wool,
which we will give him to-morrow, when he goes
back. He says the village is trying to readjust
itself and take up its normal life again. If only
we would come down and settle in the country ;
but that is not possible.

I dined quietly with the Segurs. I don't much
like going out at night ; the streets are so dark and
empty, but they promised to send me home in
their auto. They have still no news of Claude
Perier. They have had a letter from one of his
men who saw him fall at the head of his company,
but he thinks he was not killed, only wounded
and a prisoner.

We sat in S.'s library (no one opens their big
rooms) and we two women knitted, and he read
the paper to us. It would have been a peaceful,
happy evening if we hadn't been so oppressed
with the thought of what might still come to us.

Paris, Saturday, 23rd January,

It was beautiful this morning. I walked over
to Mme. de J.'s for lunch. She had Mmes. S.

A PROCESSION OF SOLDIERS 155

and M. We all talked war and ouvroir hard.
The ladies asked me why Francis was not with
the British army as interpreter, knowing- French
and English as well as he does. It seems that
some of the Frenchmen who have gone as in-
terpreters speak such extraordinary English that
the British officers can't understand their orders.

M. d'H. came in after breakfast. He is fright-
fully chang-ed since the war. His chateau has
been entirely destroyed — bombarded, burnt,
pillaged. He and his wife and daughters had just
time to get away. Mme. d'H. arrived in England
without a hat. The poor man is almost crazy,
but puts all the fault on this infect gouvernement
— but one can't discuss with him. He is quite
unbalanced for the moment.

We had a procession of soldiers at the ouvroir,
starting- for the front and wanting warm clothes.
There were eight gunners, conducteurs d'automo-
biles blindes, fine, strong young fellows. All had
been wounded, but were quite well and eager to
go back. After them, some reservistes. That
was rather pitiful, as all had wives and families ;
some of them looking as if they could not stand
much hard work. However, the spirit was just
the same as in the younger men. All quite ready
to go, and confident that their wives and children
would be looked after.

It seems some of the reservistes have developed
into capital soldiers after four or five months of
training.

Francis' captain is a patissier de Montmartre;
didn't look very military at first, but has become
a smart, well set-up officer. I think they are all

156 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

anxious to do well, and prove to their country
that she can count upon all her sons in her hour of
need.

Francis' own position is amusing, as he is only
a simple soldat ; no rank at all. He can't live with
the officers ; but when off duty the officers and
men all call him Monsieur Waddington, and the
Colonel invites him to breakfast.

Paris, Friday, 29M January 191 5.

We didn't have many people at the ouvroir.
Mmes. Seilliere et Simeon — the last always most
interesting. Francis couldn't get her any news
of her house at Rheims. They haven't been
allowed to go there lately, as the Germans shell
the town furiously every now and then.

Our stuffs are giving out, and our poor women
increasing in number. Some of them look too
awful, half starved and half clothed. I didn't like
to ask one poor thing who came with two children,
both practically babies, four weeks and one year
old, if she had any clothes on under her dress — I
don't think she had. She knew nothing of her
husband ; had had no news since the beginning of
December.

We must start a Women and Children's
Department — and have ordered from London a
thousand yards of flannel and a thousand of cotton.
We get it quickly enough. It is sent over through
the British Red Cross direct to us at the ouvroir.

The Tiffanys and Charlotte dined. C. had an
interesting letter from Francis. He is getting
accustomed to the shells, learns how to dodge

QUAKERS 157

them, but says the heavy cannonading- is terrific
— seems to take his head off.

Tiffany is always interesting-, as he sees so
many business men, both British and Americans ;
says there is no doubt of the American sympathy
for the Allies, though they are struggling' to remain
neutral. . . .

Paris, Sunday, 31s f January.

The Quakers came to see me at the ouvroir
to-day ; they couldn't say enough of the Abbe"
Detigne, our cure of La Fert6-Milon, and all he
had done for them. They were obliged to give
up the farmhouse they had taken between St
Quentin and Soissons (it was too near the firing-
line), and had established themselves at La Ferte\
They have spent a great deal of money, and have
distributed many clothes and blankets to the
miserable people of the pays envahis. They don't
do any hospital work, care exclusively for the civil
population. They don't wear the Quaker dress,
and don't use the "thou" and "thee" that I
remember as a child in some parts of America.
But the women have earnest, gentle faces. They
left us quite a large order. Of course we are
delighted to sell a little. We have sent off so
many paquets militaires that our funds are getting
low.

Rue de la Pompe,
Paris, Tuesday, 2nd February 1915.

Charlotte and I took our paquet for Francis to
the Invalides this morning, which was accepted at
onco. The last one was refused. We heard the

158 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1916

explanation later. We took over two enormous
paquets one day, much over the regulation size,
but as we said they were clothes and blankets for
the soldiers, they took them. It is much the best
way to send packages, as they go through in one
day by the military autos. All we send by rail,
goes first to Caen, the d£pot of the regiment, and
from there to Francis, near Rheims, which makes
an enormous loss of time. When there are any
eatables (he clamours for green vegetables and
fruit) the trajet is long.

It seems that the two big packages, instead of
being delivered to Francis at his regimental bureau,
were sent to the Division Headquarters, and
dumped in the General's anteroom. He went
into a rage at seeing these packages for " Soldat
Waddington" in his anteroom; and an aide-de-
camp, a friend of Francis, motored over in hot
haste to Francis to see what it meant. Francis
was much disgusted, and explained that the ballots
contained clothes and blankets for the regiment,
sent by his mother from her ouvroir. The aide-de-
camp said he would make that all right, and started
off for Headquarters. He reappeared with the
ballots and a message of thanks from the General,
and the hope that Mme. Waddington would send
some more warm clothes for the men. But in the
meantime, the young officer at the Invalides had
been hauled over the coals probably. All's well
that ends well, however ; and now they take our
packages.

THE AMERICAN CLEARING-HOUSE 159

Paris, Thursday, 4th February.

I didn't stay long at the ouvroir, as I was going
to dine with the W.'s at their hotel. Two nice
people came to their salon after dinner — a M.
Perritet and his mother. He is from New Orleans,
speaks French well, and goes often to the front, to
a hospital organised by Mine, de P., n£e MacMahon
(the Marshal's daughter). He is going again soon,
and expects to take a great many things.

He says the American Clearing- House is
wonderfully filled with every imaginable thing,
from bedsteads to boxes of Quaker oats.

It was a bright, cold moonlight night. W.
walked home with me. The streets are perfectly-
dark and deserted. A footfall on one of the
narrow streets quite startles one. I think ours is
the darkest of all. Hardly any one has come back.
There are no lights in the houses, and only one
lamp at the bottom of the street.

PARIS, Saturday, 6th February.

I was rather tired at the ouvroir to-day. There
were so many women, and they all talked so much,
and knew so much ; apparently every one had
constant and confidential communications from
General Joffre.

I met Henry Outrey at the door and told him
he must take me somewhere for a cup of tea. I
was tired with so much female conversation.
Outrey is working at the Croix Rouge ; goes
three or four times a week to the station at
Aubervilliers, near Paris, where the trains of

>,

160 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

wounded soldiers arrive. They stop there to have
their wounds dressed. There is a hospital on the
quay. The Red Cross nurses always there. He
stays all night (so do the women), and says the
sights are awful ; some of the men too badly hurt
to go on are taken out of the train and laid on
mattresses or piles of straw, on the quay, until
they can be attended to. They never complain ;
try to smile and thank when any one brings them
a bowl of soup or a cup of hot coffee.

Henry says they are terrible objects, their
uniforms filthy with dust and blood, which stiffens
on the thick cloth of their capotes, unwashed,
unshaven. I suppose one must go on to the bitter
end ; but I ask myself sometimes, if it is worth
the frightful sacrifice of life. I often stop at the
church of St Philippe du Roule on my way home.
Already there are so many women in deep
mourning — what will it be later?

Paris, Tuesday, gt/i February.

Mme. Thenard (de la Comedie-Francaise) gave
a conference on Deroulede this afternoon at the
ouvroir. She is always interesting, and though
she has lost her wonderful voice, she uses such
beautiful language and speaks with so much
emotion that the audience, quite numerous, was
moved to tears. She recited the Clairon, and
wound up with an appeal to the women of France
to lead more earnest, simple lives. Men are what
women make them, and the mothers and wives
have a terrible responsibility in these awful days.
There was a wounded officer in the audience, just

MR GERARD AT BERLIN 161

from the Yser, with his arm in a sling-, and a
Belgian boy scout sixteen years old, who had been
nineteen times through the enemy's lines, and had
been decorated by the King' of the Belgians, who
pinned his medal himself on his coat. He was,
of course, surrounded and questioned after the
conference, but looked very shy and uncomfortable
on finding himself the object of general attention
However, I don't think any one kissed him, which
sometimes happens in these emotional days.

Paris, Thursday, nth February.

There is startling news this morning. Gerard,
U.S. Ambassador, insulted at a Berlin theatre —
most angry, hostile demonstration. Of course we
have it only in the papers. It may be exaggerated.
I can't think that Germany wants to quarrel with
America. It would be about the last blunder she
could make.

I don't know Mr Gerard, but I hear that he is
a cool, clever lawyer, who would resent the least
slight to America.

Paris, Friday, 12th February.

We were busy all the afternoon at the ouvroir,
making paquets militaires. We sent off a good
one to Mme. Machery, the "Mayor of Soissons."
My husband knew Soissons well in earlier years
when he was Senator for the Aisne. Mme. M.
has shown wonderful courage ever since the war
broke out, and for the last two or three days there
have been appeals in the papers for the refugees,
who are leaving it en masse. Half the town is in

162 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

ashes. Such a typical old French cathedral town,
with its broad, quiet streets, with old-fashioned
houses behind high walls — the beautiful ruins of
the St Jean des Vignes — and on market-days the
main street and hotel (the "Cheval Blanc")
crowded with farmers and country people. What
all that country will look like when the Germans
finally retreat one can't imagine ; they will certainly
burn and destroy all they can. It will take years
to restore any kind of trade or prosperity.

Mareuil,
Saturday, \^th February 1915.

We got down yesterday at 2.30. The boys
had a holiday for Mardi Gras, and of course
wanted to come to Mareuil. It was a cold, boring
journey. We had the same long wait at Ormoy,
but we did not mind it so much this time as the
station was crowded with soldiers. Two military
trains with dragoons and cuirassiers arrived just
after us ; all of them, officers, men, and horses,
looked very well and cheerful. They had come
from Amiens ; hadn't had much fighting yet, and
were on their way to the front. They didn't know
where. The little station was in an uproar at
once. The officers asked for papers. There were
none at the station, nor at the cafe just across the
road, so we told the boys to give ours, which they
accepted gladly.

The fatigue-dress of some of the officers was
most remarkable — brown corduroy breeches, a
khaki coat — and one big, rather red-faced man had
a knitted polo-cap, green and yellow, on his head.

MAREUIL IN WAR-TIME 163

The country looked still very desolate, and the
work of repairing goes very slowly ; but there was
a little more movement — some women in the
fields, one with a plough and a donkey, trying to
turn up the ground a little. Soldiers, of course,
everywhere. Even the little country line from
Ormoy to Mareuil is strictly guarded, particularly
at all bridges and tunnels. I think they must be
afraid of spies still, for no troops pass on that line.

We found the house fairly comfortable. Mme.
Gaillard had received our letters, and she and
Lucie had worked hard to make the rooms habit-
able, collecting all the whole chairs and tables from
all over the house. It was not oppressively hot,
though there were fires in our rooms and the big
stove in the hall was lighted — but as we cannot
get any coal, of course we can have no great heat
with the very small pieces of wood they send
from the usine.

We found quite a pile of shirts, drawers, and
socks in the lingerie — really very well made ; the
socks much better than we expected. There were
two or three pairs that were a little eccentric as
to shape — heels a little wide — but I fancy our
poor soldiers in their trenches, half full of water,
won't be very particular as to shapes, so long as
they have something warm to put on.

We have very few Belgians in the village,
though we are so near the frontier, and they are
all very quiet and grateful for whatever is done
for them. In Paris, we heard complaints. At
one big Belgian ouvroir the refugees declined the
clothes that were given to them, wanted to go to
the vestiaire and choose for themselves.

164 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

Mareuil,
Sunday, i^th February 1915.

It was lovely to-day — a bright sun. It was so
cold in the church we had to change our seats,
and even then could hardly stay. A large pane
of glass is out in the window just over our pew,
and there is no glass in the country, and no work-
man to put it in if there was any.

We took a long walk after breakfast through
the big quarries on the La Fert£ road, coming out
on the Montigny hill. We had the fields to our-
selves. Not a soul to be seen. The quarries are
enormous, stretching far into the woods, and one
can understand perfectly how strongly the Germans
are intrenched in the Soissons quarries, which we
stupidly and thoughtlessly put at the disposal of
a delightful German en civil (some people say it
was General von Kluck), who settled some time
in Soissons. He took a house there, made him-
self charming to all the inhabitants, rode all over
the country, and finally obtained permission to
grow mushrooms in the quarries. Of course, as
one looks back now, our naivete seems colossal,
to use the German's pet word.

They have carried off many French women and
children, who live with them in the quarries, cook
for them, and go into Soissons to buy food, the
Germans threatening them with terrible reprisals
if they don't come back, keeping their children
as hostages. One of the difficult questions after
the war will be what to do with the German babies
born in the trenches. One Belgian priest said
from the pulpit that they ought to be killed at
once, or not allowed to be born ; but I suppose

EXPELLED VILLAGERS 165

one can't resort to such drastic measures. They
will be allowed to live probably, but sent to the
"Assistance Publique," and then to the colonies.
It was warm walking, and the sunset lovely.
The cure came to dinner and told us more details
of their wanderings, which seem already ancient
history — events have gone so quickly since. He
told us that for nights after their return to Mareuil,
he couldn't sleep ; all night he heard the trample
of cattle and the roll of heavy cart wagons on the
hard roads. He said the women were wonderful.
Many of the farmers' wives led their caravan of
women, children, and beasts. The village travelled
for days alongside of one large, well-known farm.
The fermiere led the procession in a cabriolet with
an old horse the Germans didn't think worth
taking ; beside her an equally old contremaitre
(overseer) ; oxen, cows, sheep, and geese directly
behind. Then a train of farm-wagons filled with
women and children. When they came to a
carrefour (a square place where several roads
meet), she made signs to her troupeau (flock) with
a red parasol 'over the top of her cabriolet.
They halted at night — all drawn up on one side
of the road, and she and her contremaitre went off
to see if they could find food or shelter in a hamlet
or farm — happy if they could be taken in, in a
barn or a wood-shed. My poor women slept two
nights in a field under the hay-stacks.

MAREUIL, Monday, \$th February

It was an awful morning, hail and frozen snow
;ind an icy wind. We all shivered even with our

166 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

coats on, and an expedition to La Ferte seemed
impossible ; but it cleared up bright and mild at
1 2 o'clock, and we started directly after breakfast
— always in Bourgeois's tapissiere — the only
available vehicle. Charlotte, remembering her
last experience, when she had to hang her hat on
a nail on the side, had put on a soft felt with only
a ribbon around the crown, and we all managed
to get in and jolted along very uncomfortably.
We met nothing on the road until we got to
Marolles. There we fell in with an army of
autobuses and big lorries, taking up the whole
road and making it very difficult for us to pass.
It was the service de ravitaillement. Their head-
quarters are at the Chateau de Bourneville and
La Ferte\ There were three hundred lorries at
La Ferte. They radiate from there in all direc-
tions. The town was crowded with soldiers and
officers.

We didn't see the Abbe Detigne. He wasn't
at home, and his sister didn't know where to look
for him. We went to see one of our friends, Mr C,
and rang a loud peal at the door-bell, not observing
— as the door was wide open — that a notice was
posted up : " E tat- Major."

There were one or two soldiers in the court-
yard, and two officers came running up to ask
what we wanted. We explained that we wanted
to pay a visit to Mr C. They said he was not
there, and that the staff were occupying his house
— but wouldn't we come in and pay them a visit,
and what could they do for us ? That we declined,
but talked to them a little while, and asked them
if there was any news. We met them again as

GERMANS AT LA FERTE 167

we were talking- to some of the lorry-drivers, who
told us the lorries were all American, marvellously
light and easily managed ; turned so well in the
narrow streets- They were evidently very curious
to know who we were, suddenly appearing in La
Ferte, where certainly no femmes du monde were
to be seen in these days. One of them made
friends with Frank, and carried him off to his
rooms over the barber's to get some chocolate.
They brought out a box of Marquis chocolates
and distributed them freely to us all, filling the
boys' pockets.

We had gouter at the Sauvage — very good
chocolate, cafe au lait, bread and butter and jam,
but none of the cakes for which the house was
famous in the old days. The son of the house,
who is an excellent pastry-cook, is at the front.
Mme. Thomas was so pleased to see us, telling the
boys she remembered their father quite well when
he was much smaller than they. She wouldn't
let us pay anything, brought in the gouter herself,
and sat at the table with us and talked. She just
remembered '70, and seeing the Germans in La
Ferte. However, she said they behaved well
this time, paid for what they took, and did not
molest the women and children.

We went into all the shops, buying what we
could, and hearing each one's experience during-
the German occupation. They really didn't suffer
very much. They had time to hide money
and valuables of every kind, as the British passed
through twenty-four hours before the Germans,
and told them they were coming. It was more
the dread of what might happen. Some of the

M

168 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

people left, and their houses were sacked, but
nothing- was done to those who remained.

One of our friends left her cook in her house.
The woman preferred staying-. When the Germans
arrived, the officer in command sent for her, ordered
all doors to be opened, and asked her where her
mistress was ; knew all about her, that she was
a widow living- alone with her servants. When
the cook answered that she had gone away, he
said she was wrong. "We don't hurt women and
children." The cook replied indignantly : "Perhaps
you don't hurt them, you kill them ! " Upon which
she was told to hold her tongue and leave the
room.

We left about 4.30. It was curious to hear
such a racket of military life in the quiet little
town — a continual rumbling of heavy munition
and provision autos, small detachments of cavalry,
every now and then a military auto filled with
officers dashing full speed through the narrow
street ; men carrying large marmites of soup and
baskets of bread, and girls standing at the doors,
laughing and talking with the soldiers. I rather
tremble for the morals of La Ferte with so many
g-ood-looking young soldiers about, but it is difficult
to do anything: "On ne peut rien refuser au
soldat! " is the phrase on everybody's lips.

We were decidedly exhausted when we got
home, cramped and stiff from sitting so long on the
hard, narrow seats of the tapissiere. The village
was perfectly dark — only a light flashed for a
moment on the bayonet of the guard at the bridge,
who stopped us to see if we had our pass.

OUR DEVASTATED GARDEN 1(39

MAREUIL, Mardi Gras, i6/7/ February.

It has been a bright, beautiful day. One could
hardly believe it after the cold rain and hail of
yesterday. We walked about the garden in the
morning — if garden it can be called, All the lawns
and flower-beds have been dug' up. The house
stands in the middle of ploughed fields. We are
debating what we shall plant — potatoes and beans,
I think, so that we can have our vegetables in
winter, as well as improve the earth. They say
potatoes purify the soil, and perhaps next year, if
the war is over, we can have new lawns, but we
shan't do anything to the house and garden until
the Germans are out of France — when ?

After breakfast, we walked up the Montigny
hill. The boys wanted to see what was left of a
German aeroplane which had caught fire and
burned on the hillside. The sun was really too
hot on our backs. We had to take our coats off.
As we were passing a field where a very old man,
with a very old horse, was ploughing, he called out
to us. We couldn't hear what he said, thought he
wanted something, and told the boys to run across
the field to see. They raced off as fast as they
could, talked to him for a few moments, then
dashed up the hill across the ploughed field. We
saw them poking at something with their sticks ;
then they came galloping back with red cheeks
and eyes shining with excitement, calling out to
us: 'Mother, Danny, come and see; there is a
dead Boche up there ; they have just turned him
up with the plough." We were silent for a moment,
declining their proposal to go and see ; and then

170 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

Charlotte said: "Ah, think, boys, perhaps some-
where in Germany, far away, a mother and her
two boys are walking along the road, just like us
to-day, talking- of the father whom they may never
see again." The boys were not in the least moved
— -rather surprised. "Why, mother, it is only a
Boche" — as if it were a rat. I suppose all the
ugly sights they have seen, bridges and houses
blown up, and the quantities of miserable, half-
starved, half-clothed children, have hardened their
childish hearts. I wonder if all this will have an
effect upon the mentality of the young generation.
Will they grow up hard and cruel?

There are many Germans buried in the fields
around us, quite close to the surface. Sometimes
one sees a rustic cross made of sticks, sometimes a
stick standing straight up, just to mark the spot.
There will be thousands of those lonely soldier
graves all over France.

We found the wreck of the aeroplane on the
top of the hill. There wasn't much left — some
linen and bits of steel which the boys carried away
as a souvenir.

Souvenir makes me think of the British troops.
They carried off a good many things, but I
suppose all soldiers do. Their reasoning was
simple, logical : ' Nous prenons souvenir ; si
prenons pas, Allemands prennent ! " The Germans
were about twenty-four hours behind them.

It was lovely sitting on the hillside; the sun
through the trees making little patterns of light on
the white roads, and the beautiful valley of the
Ourcq stretching away into the blue distance ; it
should have been a peaceful, happy scene, but

A LOOTED HOUSE 171

the country is quite deserted ; no passing, no
workers in the fields, nor children playing- about
while their mothers worked. A cloud of sadness
hovers over everything1, and we always hear the
dull, steady growl of the cannon, which means
mourning and anguish for so many of us.

It seems centuries since I galloped over those
hills with YV., listening to his recollections of '70,
and the first time he saw a Pickelhaube (German
helmet) appearing in the twilight at the window of
his library at Bourneville — a disagreeable moment.

We were rather tired after our scramble up the
hill, and didn't have a very long evening. The
fumoir is perfectly comfortable, heats easily, even
with the modest wood-fires, but it looks bare and
strange ; no sign of habitation, nothing but the
newspapers and our work.

We always have socks and jerseys on hand.

Mareuil,
Ash Wednesday, 17M February.

We have had a cold, raw day, which we didn't
expect after the beautiful summer afternoon yester-
day. The night, too, was beautiful, bright starlight.
I love a starlight night in the country ; the stars
always seem so much nearer than in town.

It didn't rain, so we turned the boys loose in
the garden, and made a depressing and exhausting
tour of the upstairs rooms, missing something at
every turn. The wardrobe where we keep our
reserve of poor clothes had been opened, and
everything taken. We both of us feel so strongly
that our house has been soiled, can never be the
same to us again. I hope the feeling will pass.

172 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

We have been so fond of our quiet country home
— have had so many happy hours there. Perhaps
when the war is over and Francis comes home,
it will be different.

We decided to move the best furniture and
trunks, boxes, etc., into two of the rooms and lock
them. I don't think we shall have any more
Germans. We are not on their way home ; but
perhaps British and French. One must be pre-
pared for any surprises.

The Abbe Detigne came to breakfast. It
seemed almost the old times to see his little cart
coming to the gate. He was, as usual, most in-
teresting. He was amusing over a "belle dame
de la Croix Rouge," who came down to La Fert£
to take charge of an ambulance established in the
Ecole Maternelle. She looked very nice in her
infirmiere dress, and gave a great many orders,
and didn't find any of the arrangements satisfac-
tory ; but she wouldn't touch a wounded soldier,
neither wash him nor dress his wounds, nor take
off his rags — for clothes they could hardly be
called — when the poor fellows were just out of
the trenches, or had been lying for days on straw
in a shed, waiting to be taken to a hospital.
Whenever there was a badly wounded man or a
fever patient, she wanted him sent to the Hotel-
Dieu, where the poor sisters had more than they
could attend to ; when the abbe" and the mayor
remonstrated the lady's husband appeared on the
scene, saying : " Ma femme n'est pas habitude a
retirer les chaussettes des pieds sales d'un soldat,
ni de leur laver les pieds ! " Then their patience
gave out. They had the sick and wounded men

MONSIEUR PROFIT 173

wrapped up in blankets and carried them off to
the Hotel-Dieu, where the sisters gave up their
refectoire and lingerie — and then the authorities
closed the hospital.

We gave the abbe some warm shirts and
drawers, and said we would go and see them the
next time he came down.

The Croix Rouge has done and is doing such
splendid work that one is sorry such disagreeable
incidents occur ; but of course in all large societies
there must be all kinds, and alongside of some of
the volunteer nurses who have given their time
and their strength, and sometimes their lives,
there are women who only want the notoriety and
right to wear the nurse's dress, which is becoming.
The poor abbe was quite put out.

While we were at breakfast they brought us
the news that Mr Profit, a young farmer of the
village, was wounded; they said, "grievement
blesse." It will be a great loss if he is killed, as
he is one of the best men in Mareuil, has had a
very good education, and has travelled a little.

I was quite surprised when he dined with us
<>ne night when the Bishop of Beauvais was staying
with us, to hear how easily and intelligently he
talked. They are a family of perfectly respectable,
well-to-do farmers, who have big farms in this part
of the country. I have often heard it said that the
Profits could walk from Mareuil to Paris without
going off their own ground.

We went to see Mine. Profit after the abbe
went. She was very agitated, but brave and
helpful ; was going off at once. We went after-
ward to see the miller's wife, also one of our

174 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

friends. They had had Germans in their house,
but they hadn't done much harm ; drank up all
the wine they could find (they had hidden their
best), and carried off blankets and coverlids.

Our cure came to dinner, as we are leaving
to-morrow morning early, and we spent all our
evening making lists and prices of the work to
be done. We had brought down several pieces of
stuff which we left with Mme. Gaillard to be cut
out and given to the women, we also weighed the
wool so that each woman might have the same
amount for her stockings.

We leave to-morrow morning at g o'clock, and
by the Est, this time taking the military road,
which will be very interesting as it was made to
suit the convenience of the army, and passes
recklessly, they tell us, through gardens, farm-
yards, and orchards.

Paris, Thursday, i%th February*.

We got back this morning from Mareuil, taking
the military line as far as Tr6port ; it was made
apparently with an absolute disregard of people's
property, running through farmyards, orchards,
gardens, sometimes close down to the river, some-
times close under the windows of a small manoir.
Soldiers still working on it, and keeping the
rickety little wooden bridges in order. We went
naturally very slowly — a light train. They say
all military roads go straight from one point to
another, and this one is certainly no exception to
the rule.

I found H. rather anxious, as people had told

THE DARDANELLES 175

her we could not get back for several days, for
there was a great movement of troops and cannon
on the Chemin de Fer de 1'Est. We couldn't tele-
graph her (the telegraph only works for the military
authorities), and our letters arrived after us.

Paris, Saturday, 20th February 191-,

There is news this morning. Yesterday the
allied fleets, French and British, appeared sud-
denly in the Dardanelles and began shelling the
Turkish forts. It was a great surprise to the
general public. The move was so quietly made.
I am afraid they have a difficult task before them ;
still, in the end, Constantinople must fall, and
there will be one of the many difficult problems
to solve when the war is over.

This is always a busy day at the ouvroir. The
women bring back their work and ask for more.
We had, too, a good many soldiers.

We like it much better when the men come for
their paquets. Then we are sure that they get
them. So many people complain that the packages
they send never arrive at their destination.

It is amusing to see Mrs M., who is a tall,
handsome woman, measuring the men across the
chest, to see if the shirt and jerseys are broad
enough.

I went for a few minutes to the American
rectory to see Mrs Watson. I found her in her
Belgian room at the ouvroir. It was piled high
with cases and packages of every description.
She is doing an immense amount of good, helping
so many people.

176 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

Paris, Tuesday, 2 ^rd February.

The days are all alike, but somehow or other
the time passes. There is a lull in the fighting-.
Every one predicts fierce struggles with the
advance of spring and the mild weather. Until
the Germans get out of France I can't feel quite
happy. I don't see how they are ever to get them
out of the trenches near Soissons. Report says
the trenches will be blown up by the British. The
French can't, as there are many of their women
and children in them.

Some one read aloud at the ouvroir to-day
some letters filled with German atrocities. I
suppose some things are true, but they can't
have committed all the horrors laid to their
charge.

I dined quietly with the S£gurs, with our old
friends the Savoyes. No one dresses ; the men
wear smoking or redingote, with black ties, the
women high dresses. S6gur had seen some one
at the club — a diplomat — who had just come back
from Berlin. He said the city was absolutely nor-
mal. Shops and theatres open ; streets well lighted ;
plenty of people walking about, almost cheerful.
He had a very good dinner at one of the good
restaurants. There were several German officers
in uniform dining. He thought they were attached
to the War Office in Berlin. He didn't see any
black bread, nor any want of white. Said the
soldiers and people certainly had black bread, but
that didn't mean anything, as the German peasant
always eats black bread.

A WOUNDED SOLDIER 177

Paris, Sunday, ph March.

It was cold and rainy this afternoon, a day to
stay at home by the fire. We dined early, 7.30,
so that Willy could come down and dine with his
mother. Ever since his father said good-bye to
him at Aulnay, when he was starting for the front,
and told him he must be a big" boy and take care
of his mother, he has felt a great responsibility.
He misses his father awfully, like all of us ; but we
try to be brave, though the sight of the young
men walking about with legs and arms amputated
takes all my courage away.

Yesterday I met Mme. de G., an aunt of
Charlotte's, in the rue La B£otie ; so changed I
almost passed her. Last year she was fresh, ani-
mated, interested in everything. She has grown thin
and pale, with a wistful look in her eyes that rather
haunts one. Her eldest son, an officer, is at the
front ; her baby — just twenty years old, a simple
soldier — is a prisoner in Germany. He has sent
her three or four post-cards saying he is fairly well
treated. But so many people say they don't dare
tell the truth on open post-cards that she is not
quite happy. While we were talking, a soldier,
young — not more than twenty-two or twenty-
three, with his leg amputated just above the knee
— the empty trouser hanging loose — looking thin
and pale — came along on his crutches — a woman
with him. Everybody spoke to him : " Bon jour,
MOM ami ! " A little girl detached herself from a
group of children, ran across the street to shake
hands with him, and gave him a bunch of violets,
saying: "Bon jour, Monsieur." He looked so

178 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

pleased. It was a pretty sight. For a few
moments there was nothing- but the wounded
soldier in the street.

Rue de la Pompe,
Paris, Monday, Wi March 191 5.

A horrid day, snow falling at intervals. I came
up early to dinner. C. had a nice letter from
Francis. He had been for the first time in the
trenches, found officers' quarters very comfortable,
seats, tables, fire, books and papers. The soldiers'
not quite so good, but very fairly comfortable.
He started back in the dark ; said it was rather
melancholy passing graves of some of the men of
his own regiment, He met some officers in autos,
who told him to be very careful crossing the bridge
over the canal, as the Germans were watching it
very closely, and sent shells at anything they saw
crossing. He waited until one shell had fallen,
then dashed over as hard as he could — a shell
falling just behind him. It was a serious perform-
ance, but he seems to have grown accustomed
to shells.

He says the Colonel and all the officers beg for
his books. We send him every week some illus-
trated papers for his men. Hanotaux's pictorial
history of the war {Histoire de la Guerre\ the
Revue de Paris, which has very good war and
foreign articles, and the Times. Walter W., who
is quartered about ten miles further back, asks
him for books — Walter being his cousin, Walter
Waddington, who is Lieutenant-Colonel of a
regiment of cuirassiers.

ZEPPELINS 179

Paris, Sunday, 21st March.

We had an agitated night — our first experience
of Zeppelins. For some days the police have been
very strict about lights, not only in the streets, but
in the houses. If the slightest gleam escapes
through barred shutters and closely drawn curtains,
they come up at once and protest vigorously.

I was sleeping quietly, didn't hear the
avertissement (pompiers, rattling through the street,
not ours but the rue Francois Ior at the corner,
sounding the alarm, "garde a vous," which we all
know too well now), and was astonished when the
maids appeared in my room much excited. The
little one who sleeps au sixieme, had been waked
up by the appel and the noise in the street — our
concierge ordering all lights out. She saw the
Zeppelins quite distinctly from her window,
ssing over the barriere de l'Etoile, and heard the
cannon and mitrailleuses from the Eiffel Tower.
However, by the time she got downstairs the
danger was over. The street and house were
quiet, and she returned to the sixth floor. I put
on a warm cloak and stood on the balcony a little
while, but saw nothing; the street was perfectly
quiet and dark, except when the search-light threw
a long yellow ray.

About an hour later there was another alarm,
but it was nut serious, though the pompiers with
their "garde a vous" rattled under our windows
this time.

It was too much for the poor little maid; she
rushed downstairs quite unnerved and frightened,
and slept in the lingerie all night. Almost all the

180 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

locataires of the 5{kme spent the night in the
concierge's lodge.

Before 9 o'clock this morning Charlotte arrived,
quite white and trembling. They had been waked
out of a sound sleep by the noise : First the bombs
— one fell in the avenue Malakofif, near the rue
de la Pompe — and then the firing from the Tour
Eiffel, and the few French aeroplanes that were
flying. The children and maids were terrified, so
they all went down to the concierge's lodge,
getting quickly into whatever clothes they could
find, groping about in the dark, and spent the rest
of the night there. Various other locataires did
the same, the concierge making occasional excur-
sions into the street, which was black as ink, to
see if anything more was happening.

Evidently there was much more disturbance in
their part of the town. They are so close to the
Tour Eiffel. Charlotte felt rather better when she
had had a glass of Marsala, and talked it all over
with us ; and she went back to the house to bring
the boys here to breakfast. They looked a little
pale when they arrived, but were much excited,
having been waked out of their sound sleep by the
noise and the autos, and then being hurried into
their clothes and passing the night sitting up in the
lodge. Poor little things, they have had various
experiences since their hurried flight from Mareuil
at the beginning of the war. They will never
forget "war-times." All they do and all they don't
do is subservient to the one absorbing idea :
"War."

We had quite a number of visits at tea-time, all
of course full of the alarm. The T.'s, sleeping

ZEPPELINS AGAIN 181

peacefully in their rooms on the court of their
hotel, heard nothing, and read the news in the
papers this morning-. In almost all the hotels people
were waked up and told to come downstairs.
They say the assemblage at the Ritz was wonderful,
though most o\ the women had made themselves
presentable with long cloaks and fichus tied over
their heads, but some had been too frightened ; had
only one idea, to get downstairs, and nature stood
revealed most unbecomingly.

Rue de la Pompe,
Paris, 22nd March 1915.

We had a second Zeppelin alarm last night about
9 o'clock. We had just finished dinner, all lights
were ordered out, and the pompiers dashed through
the street sounding their "garde a vous." The
shrill, strident notes set every nerve on edge. There
wasn't a sound to be heard ; no cannon nor noise
of falling bombs. We sat by the window, making
occasional excursions to the balcony, but there
was nothing to be seen. No one in the street ;
a few men standing at the doors of their houses ;
one just saw them like shadows when the search-
lights played around.

A little before 1 2 the pompiers passed again
more slowly, playing "danger over," and calling
out: 'Danger over; you can light." They were
cheered all along the streets. Willy called from the
window: " Sont-ils partis, les sales Bodies ?"
" Oui, mon petit, oui. Vous pouvez vous coucher."

There was another alarm after we had got to
bed, about 12 o'clock, but it didn't amount to
anything. Still these arc agitated nights.

182 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

Paris, Wednesday, 24th March.

I was at the ouvroir all the afternoon. Mme.
M. had seen the Zeppelin quite distinctly. It passed
over the house ; she said it looked extraordinary,
all lighted, brilliant shells bursting around it in all
directions from the mitrailleuses and French
aeroplanes.

Paris, Tuesday, $oth March.

The Duchesse de Bassano and Lady Lee came
in late this afternoon. They were just back from
Versailles, where they had been to the British Red
Cross Hospital at the Hotel du Trianon. They
say it is wonderfully installed, so clean and spacious,
and under strict military discipline. The Duchesse
took flowers and tobacco and picture papers to the
soldiers, and said they were very pleased — just like
children — particularly with the flowers.

Lady Lee occupies herself very much with the
hospitals, not nursing, but seeing that they have
all they want, and writing letters for the soldiers.

Versailles is quite changed with so many British
about — officers in khaki, sometimes with their
wives and children ; British Red Cross nurses and
automobiles. The two little tea-shops are doing
a thriving business. We went into one the other
day and might have thought ourselves in London :
British at every table, all having tea and muffins.
Our boys are always taken for English, as they are
fair and speak English with their English nurse —
which makes them most indignant. "We are
French boys; father is a French soldier!"

LADY PLUNKETT 183

Paris, Good Friday, 2nd April 1915.

The churches were crowded yesterday and
to-day ; a great many women in mourning, a great
many wounded soldiers. At one of the churches,
in a little chapel where the Christ was exposed with
an abundance of flowers and candles, a young-
soldier, not more than twenty-two years old, with
one leg off, looking very white and weak, came
in, but couldn't get a seat. He stood for a few
minutes leaning on his crutches. A child got up,
ran over to him, saying : " Viens, mon ami,
mets-toi la a cote de Marxian." He demurred,
but the lady made a sign to him to come. He
took the seat, and the little girl knelt alongside
of him on the stone pavement.

Paris, Easter Sunday, 4//1 April.

I went to the American church. C. and the
boys came to breakfast. We had coloured eggs for
them, and they had already had a fine collection
at their own house — useful gifts from Bonne
Maman and Danny : carnets, pencils, gloves, etc.,
and a big chocolate bell from Lady Plunkett.
She is here with Nellie, staying with Norah G.,
and nursing at the British Red Cross Hospital at
the Hotel Astoria. I fancy she is an excellent
nurse. She has had capital training at Lausanne,
at one of the great hospitals there ; and besides,
has a real vocation, is thoroughly interested in all
medical work.

N

184 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

Paris, Friday^ gtk April.

The week has been very quiet, everybody
following- the action of the fleets in the Dardanelles.
Thing's have not gone as quickly and easily as
one expected. Before Easter, Mr de P. told us
they were betting at the clubs that Constantinople
would fall for Easter. He wasn't quite so sanguine,
thought it might perhaps fall by the Sunday after,
but thinks he will lose his bet.

It is astonishing how the time slips away"when
one does the same thing every day. The
communiques don't tell us much about the war, nor
private letters either. Francis writes fairly often,
but except when he has a night in the trenches or
a reconnaissance with the General, or some of his
officer friends, there is not much to tell.

Walter Waddington is about ten kilometres
from Francis' cantonment. He and his officers
are very comfortably lodged in a small chateau,
and Francis goes over to lunch and dine with him
sometimes. The other day he took over one of
the sergeants of his regiment — a singer from the
Opera-Comique, who has a charming voice, and
sings very well. There was quite a good piano at
the chateau, and they made music all the evening,
Francis accompanying his friend. Then Francis
played the national airs and our famous march of
" Sambre et Meuse," winding up with " It's a long,
long way to Tipperary," all the officers joining in
the chorus.

When Francis and his friend were starting back
the cannon was going again, hard, and shells were
whistling through the air. The men told Francis

SENLIS IN RTTNS 185

to be very careful at a certain bridge, which the
enemy always aims at. They don't seem to mind
the shells more than tennis-balls, yet men are killed
around them every day.

I am going out to Mrs Depew's to-morrow.

Chateau d'Annel,

\oth April 1 9 15.

We had a lovely afternoon yesterday ; leaving
the Hotel Crillon at 4 and getting here about 6.30.
The road, as usual, was deserted. We met no
private conveyances of any kind, merely military
autos, which go an awful pace, particularly the
British ones — and occasionally convoys of muni-
tion-wagons or food — the fields empty, no plough-
ing nor work of any kind going on, women and
children standing at the doors of their cottages.

We passed through Senlis, which is tragic. In
the one long street, all the houses in ruins — roofs
off, windows out, walls fallen, heaps of stones and
charred beams everywhere. It quite reminded
me of Pompeii ; and over all this black ruin, the
beautiful blue summer sky, and the great stillness
of the country. We were stopped several times,
but only for a moment, as the car with its English
chauffeur, dressed in khaki, is well known on the
road. Then we got to the bridge of Compiegne,
where we were stopped again. There were a great
many people much excited, pointing to the sky,
where I saw nothing, but the others did. It was
a French aeroplane being fired upon by German
shells. Mrs D. saw the aeroplane quite distinctly,
as well as the little puffs of smoke looking like

186 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

white clouds, made by the German shells. The
officer at the bridge told us we could go on ; there
was no danger, as the aeroplane was some distance
ahead, and we were behind the firing-line.

It is curious how in war-times everything
seems natural, even to taking an afternoon's
turn in the country with shells flying over your
head.

In one of the small villages we passed through,
close to Annel, a regiment of Spahis was quartered.
They looked most picturesque with their bright
red cloaks and white turbans ; were tall, dark,
handsome men. I suppose they are not allowed
to fight in that costume ; they would make a fine
target for the enemy, even for the old gentlemen
of the Landsturm, who don't seem very efficient
with a rifle.

Our evening was pleasant. The hospital staff
— about eight men, doctors, gentlemen chauffeurs,
etc. — dined with us. All were in khaki. We heard
the cannon quite distinctly until 9.30, and went
out on the terrace to see if we could distinguish
any rockets, but all was quite dark.

As soon as the lights are lit in the chateau,
heavy black curtains are lowered over all the
windows, which give a ghastly impression in the
house, as not a gleam of light must be visible.
They are too near the front, only ten miles from
the German trenches.

It all seems very comfortably arranged. The
family lives in one wing, quite apart from the
hospital. Mrs Depew will take me over the
wards to-morrow.

It is lovely this morning ; I shall go for a stroll

AN IMPRESSIVE SERVICE 187

in the park, and at 1 1 o'clock there is mass in the
small convalescent ward.

Mareuil, i i o'clock.

We have had a most interesting: day. I had a
nice walk with Mr D., who showed me the grave-
yard in the park, at some little distance from the
chateau, where the soldiers who have died in the
hospital are buried, until the end of the war, when
their families can come and claim their bodies.
It is very well arranged. There are about thirty
graves, a simple wooden cross at the head of each,
flowers on the graves, and a little hedge of box
around the enclosure.

We went in at 1 1 to the mass. It was held
in the old music-room, now turned into a con-
valescent ward. There were eight beds ; most of
the men propped up on pillows, and several nurses
and doctors in their white uniform. Mrs Depew,
in her nurse's dress, played the organ ; Francis the
violoncello. It was an impressive scene; and at
the end the aumonier, with the vetement over his
uniform, finished with the prayer that we hear in
all the churches now : " Prions pour nos soldats
au front, pour nos blesses ici, pour tous nos morts
dans toute la France ; et que Dieu donne aux
meres et aux femmes le courage d'accepter avec
resignation les sacrifices que le pays leur demande."
And all to the sound of the cannon, which had
been growling again since 10 o'clock.

After lunch I went into the big ward with Mrs
Depew. The men looked most comfortable and
well cared for. The room is large and bright (the
old ballroom), oil the ground floor, doors and

188 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

windows opening on the fine old courtyard, and a
flood of sunlight streaming in.

Then we went for a turn in the motor to a
village some little distance off, nearer the front.
We went up to the top story of the doctor's house,
from where we had a fine view of the plain and our
trenches and barbed-wire entanglements. We
saw very far beyond the line of our trenches, a
long stretch of plain ; then a wood, and behind
that, the German trenches.

When we got back to the chateau, all the
patients were out in the courtyard, in the sun,
their beds wheeled out. Various French officers
came in to tea, and it was a real pleasure to see
the pantalon rouge and light-blue tunic of the
chasseurs, after all the khaki, which is, of course,
more serviceable in campaign than the bright
colours, but it doesn't look military. Everybody
wears it : chauffeurs, orderlies at hospitals, etc.

They are giving all our men other uniforms, a
sort of blue-grey, for the front, but the men hate
it ; they love their red trousers.

I saw for the first time that afternoon, painted
horses. All the horses of the Chasseurs d'Afrique
are light grey horses, which, of course, made them
a fine mark for the enemy. One orderly, who
came with his officer, was riding a pink horse,
which, they said, with time and exposure in all
weathers would turn a bai rouge. Another had
a bright yellow one, which would become alezan
(chestnut) by the same process. They looked
funny in the present stage, with the men's red
trousers.

We had a pleasant dinner ; made a little music

HOMELESS SOLDIERS 189

in the evening", singing- "Tipperary," which is a
good marching- tune, and another regular silly,
catchy English song": "Susie's sewing" shirts for
soldiers." I am leaving to-morrow morning".

Paris, Wednesday, \\th April.

The days pass quietly. We don't hear much
news. All interest now is centred in the Darda-
nelles. Every one seems to think that Russia will
be most exacting when settling-day comes, and
she will, of course, want Constantinople ; but I
don't think Great Britain would mind that now
with the Suez Canal and the firm footing she has
in Egypt.

Paris, Saturday, 2\th April.

We had a procession of soldiers at the ouvroir
to-day, coming out of the hospital with four or five
days' leave before joining their regiments. Most
of them were men from the pays occup£s, with no
friends in Paris and no money — the fr. 1.25 they
got from the Government being quite insufficient
to give them food and lodging. There must be
houses or shelter of some kind for them, but we
don't know where. One poor fellow had had no
word from wife or children since September. He
was a small farmer from near Laon ; had had no
time for preparations of any kind. He was on the
first roll-call. The order for mobilisation came
on Saturday afternoon, 1st August, at 4 o'clock.
He was at the market in a little town not far
from his farm ; had just time to get back, kiss
his wife and children, and take the first train at

190 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

9 o'clock that evening-. Had heard nothing of
any of his belongings. There are hundreds in the
same plight, yet they don't complain.

Paris, Tuesday, 2l]th April.

Antoinette, Charlotte, and A. H. lunched with
us to-day. Antoinette was interesting, telling all
the work she had done at Dinard. She is quite
miserable about her German companion, Fraulein
Pauline, whom we all know, and who had been
with her for years (twenty, I think). The poor
thing had never been back to Germany, had no
relations there — a sister married here to a French-
man, and two nephews in the French army.
Antoinette kept her as long as she could, but it
wasn't possible to go on any longer. The people
in the village — even the servants in the place, who
had known her for years — she had nursed them
when they were ill, and taken care of their children
■ — got excited. After all, she was a German,
probably a spy. At last the mayor and cure told
Antoinette she must go ; they couldn't protect her
if some sudden fury seized the people — a piece of
bad news, a reverse of the French ; some new
German atrocity might happen at any moment,
and they couldn't hold the people. So most tear-
fully and reluctantly the poor woman started for
Germany.

We talked a little of old days in Rome, so long
ago. Will Italy move? I doubt it.

CHOOSING A NEW LINE 191

Paris, Friday, 30/// April.

We had a nice letter from Francis this morning.
He had made an interesting expedition with his
General to the trenches to choose where a new
line was to be made. They went in motors to the
entrance of a long- tunnel leading into the trench,
stayed there a little, talking to the soldiers, who,
he said, looked most comfortable — had made
themselves chairs and tables out of old boxes and
planks — had lamps. Then their party — about
eight or ten men — left their shelter and came out
on the plain. They were told to throw away their
cigars, not stay too close together, also to talk
as little and as low as possible.

He said it was a curious situation ; the night
quite dark, very still, except for the shells which
came screaming through the .air, and every now
and then a great roar from the big guns. They
walked about for an hour, choosing the ground for
the new line of trenches and dodging the shells
which generally flew over their heads and fell at
some little distance off. They heard the Germans
distinctly, talking in their trenches ; spoke very
little and very low themselves.

He fretted so at O. all summer, seeing nothing
of the fighting and never hearing the cannon. He
hears it enough now.

Paris, Tuesday, 4th May 1915.

We had a little concert to-day, at the Swedish
church, for the benefit of the hospital and ouvroir
which Comtesse G., wife of the Swedish Minister
to France, organised as soon as she got back

192 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

from Bordeaux. The church was very prettily
decorated with plants and flowers, and very full.
All the Swedish colony, of course, which is quite
large. Mme. Delcasse, wife of the Minister of
Foreign Affairs, Mme. M., wife of the Minister
of War, and a good many of Comtesse G.'s personal
friends. All the soldiers who were well enough
were seated on benches close to the chancel.
Some of them looked very young, mere boys.
The music was very good. Two Swedish singers
with that high, clear northern voice — so unlike
the rich, full Spanish and Italian voices — sang
very well.

After the concert was over we went into the
hospital, which is very well arranged, in a large
high room on the ground floor, very light and
airy. The beds were partitioned off with screens,
making nice little rooms. The men looked very
smiling and comfortable ; they were all con-
valescents, no grands blesses. All the ladies had
brought picture papers, tobacco, and chocolate-

Paris, Wednesday, ^th May.

I lunched to-day with a country neighbour,
Conseiller General of the Oise. He has a charm-
ing chateau, just touching the Villers-Cotterets
forest. It has been occupied ever since the month
of September 1914 ; first Germans, now French;
and the French, I think, have done and are doing
more harm than the Germans ! — horses and heavy
camions all over his park ; walls knocked down,
the men finding the big gates too narrow to allow
six or eight horses to pass abreast — and the inside

INTERPRETERS 193

in an awful condition. He was most unfortunate
in the regiments that fell to his share.

In some of the chateaux the French soldiers
mended the furniture and took care of the gardens.

Among other people we had at breakfast Mr
P., Chef de Cabinet of the Minister of War, at
this moment I should think the most overworked
man in France. I was quite ashamed to ask him
for anything, but I did. Francis wants to go as
interpreter on the staff of one of the British
generals. He says he feels he could be very
useful, as he knows English, of course, as well
as French, and is accustomed to English ways
and life. Some of the interpreters on both sides
have been utter failures. They say the English-
man who knows a little French gets on better
than the Frenchman who knows a little English.
The Frenchman is accustomed to hearing his
native tongue badly spoken, and understands more
quickly ; the Englishman, on the contrary, is slow
to understand ; must have very precise orders.

The breakfast was quite a war breakfast,
served by a parlour-maid and a soldier in uniform,
with his arm in a sling. He was our host's valet
de chambre, had been wounded, and was finishing
his period of convalescence in his master's service.

The general talk at table was interesting ; very
little criticism on what either Government or
Army was doing, and an absolute certainty of
ultimate victory — "qui nous coutera cher ; toute
notre jeunesse y restera ! " That is the tragic
side of this awful war.

When we see a regiment starting for the front,
all the young faces so flushed and smiling and

194 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

eager for the fray, we think of the hundreds who
will never come back, and of whom their families
will never know anything — merely "missing," in
the long lists of casualties.

Paris, Thursday, 6th May.

Mrs M. came to breakfast, and we went after-
ward to the Japanese hospital, installed at the
Hotel Astoria. It looked perfectly well ordered
and beautifully clean. We asked for the Directrice,
Mme. de L., whom we know, and she took us
over the hospital. The pharmacie was quite
wonderful — so neat and orderly ; all the bottles
and packages wrapped up in soft white paper, and
the curious Japanese signs or letters that one sees
on all their packages of tea. Mme. L. introduced
the head of the pharmacie to us. She said he
knew very little French, but English well ; would be
so pleased if we would talk to him. Accordingly
we had one of those halting, one-sided, impossible
conversations one has sometimes with people who
know a little (very little in this case) of a language.
I understood very little of what he said to me,
and, judging from his answers, he absolutely
nothing of what I said to him.

We saw several of the nurses all in white, with
a curious high square cap. They are a funny
collection of little yellow women, very polite and
smiling and curtseying. I can't imagine that our
soldiers like to be nursed by such ugly little yellow
creatures, even though they dress the wounds
most skilfully. They say their touch is very light,
and they work much more quickly than our
nurses. All the same I should think the men

THE LUS1TANIA 195

would prefer a nice white payse, even if she was
a little rough.

I didn't go into the operating-rooms, but Mrs
M. did. She said they were splendid, at the top
of the house, large and airy, with every modern
scientific invention. There were several ladies,
nurses, in the wards and corridors — French and
Americans. I don't know exactly what they do,
as the Japanese nurses do all the dressings — don't
allow any foreigners to touch the patients.

Paris, Saturday, 8t/i May.

There is awful news this morning: the S.S.
Lusitania torpedoed and sunk by the Germans
off the Irish coast. I didn't think even they
would have dared to do such an awful thing.
The first account says only six hundred people
saved ; the boat went down in twelve minutes.
I should think this would rouse England and
America. Still, the Americans were warned ;
they came at their own risk ; a certain number
of passages were cancelled.

Paris, Friday, i^th May 191 5.

Nobody talks of anything but the Lusitania,
and wonders what America will do. There was
an animated discussion at the ouvroir this after-
noon between Col. B. — a wounded French officer
still on his crutches — and Mr H. W., a clever
Englishman with French relations, married to a
Frenchwoman. I think in his heart, though he
wouldn't own it, the Englishman thought the

196 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

Frenchman was right : "that Britain should have
protected her ship, not braved the Germans."
Of course she never thought, nor did any one else,
that Germany, even Germany, would do such a
cowardly act. However, she has set the whole
civilised world against her now. Many of the
Americans here, particularly the women, hope
that America will fight. I hope she won't.

Paris, Sunday, i6//z May.

I went to the English church. The rector
didn't officiate, and the clergyman who took his
place asked the prayers of the congregation for
the rector and his family. Their eldest son, a
soldier, is reported "missing" since Tuesday. I
went to the rectory directly after the service, and
the servant told me it was true — a boy only
eighteen, as she said. " He was a child last
year, Madame, when he came home for his
holidays and asked me for cakes." I remember
all the boys perfectly ; didn't think they were old
enough to be soldiers.

We had a good many people at tea-time, among
others Professor Hall of Harvard with his wife
and daughter — clever, sympathetic people, all much
interested in France and the terrible struggle she
is going through. He sent me a generous contri-
bution to my ouvroir. I so rarely see American
men of that type that it was a great pleasure to
me to hear an impartial opinion from the outside
world.

ITALY DECLARES WAR 197

Paris, Saturday, 22nd May 1915.

I dined this evening with the Segurs. Quite
like old times, with all the nieces and nephews,
M.'sand H.'s. Young Merode is at the Ministere
de la Guerre (was in uniform, the new colour, "bleu
horizon," which they say is very good, blends
perfectly with sky and trees). He knows German
well, translates the letters found on prisoners or
dead. M. says they are not very interesting, the
wives in Germany finding the war very long, the
cost of living very high ; not much enthusiasm.

Paris, Sunday, 2$rd Afay.

We had a few people at tea-time ; Bessie much
excited over Italy's moving. She will have three
grandsons and two nephews in the war : five
Ruspolis ! The Duchesse de Bassano, Stuers
(Dutch Minister), and the Gyldenstopes dined.
We all talked war, of course. They were hard on
Biilow and his fiasco in Rome — but it really was
an ungrateful mission. He was beaten even before
he began to negotiate. There was a splendid
patriotic demonstration in the Roman Chamber
yesterday.

Paris, Mo// day, 24th Afay.

Italy has declared war upon Austria only (not
on Germany). People are afraid for Venice;
think Austrian aeroplanes will throw bombs on
St Mark. It would be too awful.

We had rather a disagreeable communication
from Mareuil this morning, saying our house had

198 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

been requisitioned by the military authorities, and
theofficer in commandof thegroupofautomobilistes
had asked for seven rooms and the use of the
kitchen and dining-room. It is a great bore, as
we want to go down ourselves for a week or ten
days ; but we can't refuse in war times, with the
whole country under martial law. We talked it
over with C, who had come in from Versailles for
Comtesse Foy's funeral — and gave Mme. Gaillard
her instructions. She could give six rooms in the
new house, and the use of the kitchen. I reserved
the dining-room and old house until we were able
to come down and see what arrangements we
could make.

Paris, Thursday, z^th May.

Went out to the American Ambulance this
afternoon. There were a great many people there,
as it was visiting-day. All the doors and windows
were open, the convalescents sitting out on the
terrace and perrons ; almost all had friends and
presents — flowers, cigarettes, illustrated papers.

Therese de Segur, who is at the head of one of
the great Paris hospitals, was delighted, thought
everything from wards to kitchen was so splen-
didly clean and airy.

We stopped at Charlotte's ouvroir on our way
down, and she was much interested in all the
garments the ladies were making. There are two
sewing-machines, a cutting-out table, and they
really get through a great deal of work. It is
quite different from our ouvroir, where we don't
work ourselves, merely give work to women, and
see the soldiers who come and ask for clothes —

BLIND SOLDIERS 199

always shirts ; and a great many, even in this
warm weather, still prefer woollen socks to cotton
ones.

Paris, Friday, 28M May.

I went up to rue de la Pompe to see the contents
of a box just received from the Clearing- House.
All good things. We had a quiet afternoon at the
ouvroir, but one or two blind soldiers, so sad — one
quite young man, a tall, broad-shouldered, good-
looking fellow, led in by a comrade. I talked to
him a little, asking him what he wanted. He said
to me : " Je ne puis pas vous voir, Madame. Etes-
vous jeune, ou mere de famille ? " " Non, mon ami,
je ne suis pas jeune ; je suis mere de famille —
meme grand'mere, et j'ai un fils au front, comme
vous." " Que Dieu vous le garde, Madame ; je ne
verrai jamais plus les miens." But not a word of
complaint. I couldn't make any phrases to him of
losing his sight in a glorious cause — a young,
strong man, not thirty years old, in total darkness
for the rest of his life ! I put my hand on his sleeve,
saying: 'Mon pauvre ami!" — and then the poor
fellow broke down and cried, and I beat a hasty
retreat, feeling a choke in my throat. Of course
the Government will look after them, and they will
all be taught trades, but it is pitiful to see them.

It seems there was a group of wounded and one
blind man on the terrace of one of the hospitals one
day, all rejoicing in the bright sunlight that gave a
touch of warm light to everything; the Seine, the
hills in the distance, and pointing out to each other
the fortifications and trenches of the camp retrench^.
The blind man stood apart, looking sad and lonely.

o

200 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

A young- nurse went up to him, took his arm and
led him into a corner where he could feel the sun,
and holding his fingers, pointed out the various
points the men were talking about. By degrees,
all the other men joined them, explaining and
talking to the blind soldier, who was quite excited
as the nurse moved his hand backward and forward,
and almost seemed to see the various points ;
forgot for a while his misfortune and fought his
battle over again with his comrades.

It seems that some of them were so miserable
when they realised their sight was gone that they
did not tell them at once, waited until they were
strong enough to bear the blow ; let them think it
was a temporary deprivation of sight.

Mareuil, Thursday, ^rd June.

We came down yesterday. For the last week
we have been getting letters from the cure\ from
Mme. Gaillard, telling us the house was always
full of French soldiers, who behaved very badly ;
the officer, ordering all the rooms opened, established
himself in my bedroom, and wished to put his
orderly in one of the good chambres d'ami next to
him. They wanted extra blankets and lamps, and
Mme. G. to do their cooking. At last the poor
woman came up to Paris, saying she couldn't take
such a responsibility and face the situation alone.
Her son has just been mobilise. She is alone with
one young maid in the house. That morning's
mail had brought me a letter from an officer,
saying my servants were very impolite, etc., so we
thought we had better go down.

SOLDIERS AT MAREUIL 201

I wrote to the officer and the mayor, saying
what rooms I would give and, above all, what
rooms I wouldn't ; and agreed to go down as soon
as I could. I also gave Mme. G. a letter that she
could show to the officer, telling her what rooms to
give, and that we were coming down as soon as
I could get away from my work in Paris — and here
we are.

We took the 5.30 train in the afternoon and
got down a little before 8. Though we are no
longer in the military zone, we still had soldiers at
the station, and had to show our sauf-conduits.
Our first surprise was seeing Mme. G. at the
station with a. rather smart- looking ordonnance
and her wheelbarrow — the well-known wheelbarrow
which we always use for carrying the small parcels
backward and forward.

The courtyard of the station was full of big
American lorries and autobuses. It seems the
Corps de Ravitaillement is stationed here, and
our militaires are the gentlemen chauffeurs of the
autos. We walked to the house, rather wondering
what we should find, and were met just inside
the gate by a young officer in uniform, who
introduced himself as Lieutenant D. (the gentleman
with whom I had corresponded). He asked me
if he could do anything for us. He had wanted to
send his automobile to the station, but Mme. G.
told him we always walked, but that his ordonnance
had gone. He thanked us for our hospitality ;
said he and his comrades would give us as little
trouble as possible, and retired by the garden
entrance. It was too dark to see his face, but he
had a gentleman's voice and manner. All the

202 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

same, it seemed funny to be welcomed in our own
courtyard by a perfect stranger, and to see the
garage and kitchen lighted, and silhouettes of
soldiers everywhere.

We went into the house to see what arrange-
ments we could make. The table was laid for us
in the dining-room, and Mme. G. told us the
gentlemen hoped we would allow them to send us
some filet de bceuf and asperges for our dinner,
also a bottle of good wine. I wanted some soap
and went into the office to see if my bag was there
— a very good-looking young soldier, tall, fair,
rather like an Englishman, was standing there,
lighting a lamp. He came forward, introducing
himself; had a very good, easy manner. What
could he do for me ? Would I allow him to send
me some soap ? I said I had plenty, was looking
for my bag. He went to see if it was in the hall,
and through the half-open door I saw several
soldiers in the kitchen, and there seemed to be
about seven or eight officers dining in the small
courtyard, just outside the office.

We made the best arrangements we could for
the night, and when we went down to dinner
found the boys in a wild state of delight. They
had made acquaintance with all the seven soldiers
who were dining. My eldest grandson, aged ten,
said: "They were all very polite, Danny, got up
when we came into the court, and Mme. Gaillard
told them we were 'les jeunes maltres de maison,'
and the Lieutenant introduced all of them to us."

After dinner Charlotte and I went out to speak
to them. They are a nice-looking set of young
fellows. We asked them all to dine with us

SOLDIERS IN OUR HOUSE 203

to-morrow. We are comfortable in the old house.
I sleep in the nursery, which is my old room, and
is still full of the boys' toys and books. The
Germans didn't take anything from there, except
one charming little statue of the Virgin which
Charlotte had had all her life. It is certainly
many years since I have slept with a hoop over my
head, but it seems solidly hung. I hope it won't
come down in the night. The boys will sleep
to-night on their mattress on the floor, in
Charlotte's boudoir. She is in her own room.
To-morrow we will settle ourselves better.

The house is very still ; we don't hear a sound ;
would never imagine it was full of men.

It has been a lovely warm day. It was delicious
to be waked up in the morning by the smell of
roses climbing into the windows. The roses are
lovely — quantities of them, and all the trees and
bushes grown enormously — but the lawns, planted
with potatoes, beans, and peas, look too awful ;
but there was nothing else to do. They had been
so cut up and trampled upon with horses picketed
on them, that the only hope of ever having decent
lawns again was to dig them all up and plant
potatoes.

By 7 o'clock the boys were in the garden,
playing about with some of the young men.
They sent us their chauffeur to help move some
of our heavy furniture. We shall settle ourselves
for the present in the old house, as we shall always
be liable to have French troops or British, so long
as the war lasts.

We have put up a curtain at the end of the

204 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

corridor, in the wing-, so we are quite shut off, and
none of the men ever come up the big staircase
or into our part. The Lieutenant uses Francis'
fumoir as his bureau, and they take all their meals
outside on the children's lawn or playground, the
only one which has not been cut up, under the big
pear-tree.

It is beautiful weather. If it rained, of course
they would have to come inside. I suppose one
office could be arranged as a dining-room for them.
They certainly don't deprive themselves of any-
thing in the way of food, seem to have the best of
everything, and are constantly asking what they
can send us. It is always a filet de bceuf, as the
army lives on beef.

The chauffeur has also mended our motor
which pumps the water upstairs. We sat in the
garden all day, being- quite lazy and quiet. The
boys played about with the soldiers. They have
quite taken possession of the premises ; have a
pig — "Anatole," and chickens. There was wild
excitement at one moment when Anatole escaped
from his house and trotted about among the young
potato-plants. I sent for one of the men and
explained that I couldn't have the pig running
about the garden ; he must be shut up.

We invited all the gentlemen to dine to-night.
We had brought down chickens and ham, vege-
tables and fruit from Paris, and they accepted with
pleasure, sending us word by Mme. G. that they
had a filet de bceuf, which they begged we would
accept. We asked them, all seven, and the two
little maids were rather nervous as to how they
could serve so many people. We would be eleven,

OUR DINNER PARTY 205

and we were rather nervous too, as to knives and
forks and spoons, as we have not replaced what
the Germans had taken — bringing down merely
what we wanted ourselves. But about four o'clock
the Lieutenant sent us word there would only be
four of them, the others were de service. (The
maids told us they were too shy to come.)

The dinner went very well. The chauffeur
helped in the office. The Lieutenant was the only
regular officer. He had been wounded at Char-
leroi, left rather delicate and a little deaf, and had
been given this place for a rest. The other men
were sons of rich industriels, two from Lille, which
is now occupied by the Germans. They have had
no news of their families for months — one, a nice
young fellow — Pinto d'Arringo, son of a Brazilian
naturalised Frenchman, with an English grand-
mother. They had all seen a little service. One
broad-shouldered, nice young man had been in the
fighting all around us at Vareddes-Barcy. They
were a little shy at first, but the boys helped us.
They asked so many questions, and were so
intensely interested in everything the young men
said, that it put them at their ease.

We went into the big salon after dinner, which
looked ghastly ; no table-covers, nor cushions
anywhere, and bare spaces on the walls where the
Germans had taken pictures. We had a wonderful
collection of lamps, some old ones that Mme. G.
had found in the garden, one borrowed from the
grocer, and one or two small ones belonging to the
soldiers ; but in war-times it didn't matter. The
piano was not too bad, and we made music. One
man played the violin well, and Pinto sang quite

206 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

prettily. We sang various choruses, ending with
the national airs and "Tipperary" and the famous
march of " Sambre et Meuse."

Mareuil, Friday, tfh June.

It has been very hot all day. Charlotte and
I were busy upstairs putting away all sorts of
things, as we shall lock up two rooms. The
present lot of soldiers are perfectly civil and
reasonable, but one never knows what the next
may be.

After tea we walked up to the church to see the
statue of the Virgin and Child the cur6 has had
put up in gratitude for the saving of his church.
When the Germans were approaching Mareuil,
and the village was 6vacu6e par ordre militaire, he
went to the church before leaving, to take a last
look. He had hidden all the vessels and archives.
Kneeling at the altar, praying that his church
would not be bombarded nor desecrated, he made
a vow that if it was untouched (it is a fine old
church of the twelfth century) he would put up a
statue to the Virgin. Nothing was touched, and
as soon as the village settled down a little after
fourteen days of exile, he began his work.

The statue stands very well at the back of the
church, on the hill overlooking the canal. It is
very well done, very simple, and can be seen at a
fair distance from below, and from the canal.

We walked home by the canal, stopping to
talk to all the women — and seeing soldiers every-
where. I don't know what will happen with all
those good-looking warriors about, quite changing
the usual aspect of Mareuil. The war will be

VISIT TO YILLERS-COTTERETS 207

answerable for all sorts of incidents. I think the
cure- is very anxious.

Paris, Saturday, ^th June.

We had a most strenuous and interesting day-
yesterday. With much difficulty we got sauf-
conduits to go to Villers-Cotterets, about fourteen
miles from us. We heroically decided to take
again the grocer's tapissiere — that most uncomfort-
able, narrow, springless four-wheeled cart, but he
had a good horse, and we thought we were quite
safe with our sauf-conduits — but the grocer hadn't
any ! We hadn't thought of him. We consulted
our Lieutenant, suggesting that he might perhaps
take us in his auto. But he was overwhelmed
at the mere idea. He couldn't take any civilian
in his car, and above all, no woman — not even
his own wife if she were there, or a Red Cross
nurse. However, he did what he could ; said he
was going into Villers-Cotterets on duty Saturday
morning, and would come back as soon as he
could; but not before 10.30. So we gave him
rendezvous at the bottom of the Bourneville hill,
where the poste des gendarmes is stationed, and
started at 10 in our most ramshackle vehicle.

It was rather amusing waiting at the poste.
The gendarmes knew us well. Two of them had
been quartered for some weeks at our house, and
I presented them each with blankets when they
went away. They brought us chairs, and we
sat on the bank, under the trees, and saw all the
people (not many, only military) who passed ;
the consigne was very strict ; every auto, even
with officers in it, was stopped. There was a barri-

208 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

cade across the road with a narrow opening-, just
wide enough to let one carriage pass. As soon as
the gendarmes saw a carriage coming1 down the
hill, one of them stepped forward, holding up his
gun horizontally, to bar the way. One unfortun-
ate young- woman was most indignant. She had
bicycled all the way from Meaux, twenty-five
miles, in the boiling- heat, and thought her papers
were all right ; but the Captain of gendarmes
was very stern, and wouldn't let her pass. They
are still afraid of spies, and unfortunately some
of the worst are women.

Our Lieutenant appeared very punctually at
10.30 with the grocer's sauf-conduit, and we
started. It was very hot creeping up the long
hill, just out of La Ferte ; but once in the forest
it was delightful. The big trees made a perfect
thick shade. It was very still, not a sign of life
or culture. We met nothing but military autos
and trains of lorries and autobuses, which made
long trails of dust, and filled the air with the smell
of petroleum. We were certainly the only civils on
the road. At the entrance of the town, just before
we crossed the railroad, two mitrailleuses, most
sinister-looking objects, were stationed. Villers
was bristling with soldiers, as it is the headquarters
of the 6me armee.

We went first to the Hotel du Dauphin, where
we always used to breakfast in the old days,
when we hunted in the Villers-Cotterets forest,
but it does not exist any longer as a hotel — is
turned into a military administration of some kind.
An officer who was at the door advised us to go
to the Hotel de la Chasse, some little distance

NEAR THE FRONT 209

off, and quite unknown to me. It looked rather
nice, with a large courtyard and Mowers in the
garden, which was filled with officers breakfasting,
who were all much interested in the sudden appear-
ance of two ladies and two children so near the
front. They listened hard while we explained to
the patronne that we had come from Mareuil, and
were very hungry. She gave us a very good
breakfast, and then we started off to see if we
could find an officer of the E tat- Major, and get
a permission to go nearer the front behind the
last line of trenches, and distribute some clothes
and food to the poor people. Many of the peasants
went back to their ruined villages once the
Germans were out of them, and were encamped
there in absolute misery, living in wagons or
sheds — any sort of shelter they had been able
to find. We wanted very much to get to them,
but the officer whom we interviewed wouldn't
hear of it. He was much surprised at seeing us
at Villers-Cotterets, and thought that we should
not have been given a sauf-conduit. "It was no
place for civils, nor women and children." "Had
we come from Paris?" "No, by road from
Mareuil." That surprised him still more. "Did
we meet any civils on the road?" "No, not
one." He again repeated that it was no place for
women, and advised us to get back at once before
nightfall ; said there was no possibility of getting
any nearer the front, these days, with fighting
going on all around us.

We meant to go to the hospital to see what they
wanted there (we had already sent several boxes
of bandages and hospital shirts from the ouvroir),

210 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

but were advised not to, as there were several
cases of typhus, and it was very hot. We loitered
a little in the town, hearing the cannon much
nearer and louder than at Mareuil.

The people say they are accustomed to it now ;
don't mind it. What they don't like are the shells.
We talked to some of the shop people, and bought
pens and briquets made by the soldiers in the
trenches out of pieces of German shells. As a
rule the people did not complain of the Germans ;
said they behaved well when people remained in
their houses ; but it was a reign of terror ; all the
mothers terrified to have their boys playing about,
as they made short work with boys if they got in
their way, or didn't instantly guide them to any
place they wanted to go to, or answer their questions
— they shot so many in Belgium — boys of eight to
ten years, who certainly did them no harm.

The drive home was lovely. The country looks
beautiful, but one felt so strongly the tragic
stillness and absence of life and movement. We
stopped at La Ferte\ and had tea with the abbe
in his garden, which was green and quiet and
peaceful, such a contrast to the street, quite
choked up with lorries and heavy carts and wagons,
and all the paraphernalia of war.

Our cure came to dinner — a most frugal meal.
We sat until 10 o'clock in the garden, and our
militaires came and talked to us. They were
interesting, telling their experiences and the
horrors they had seen. One young man, son of a
rich bourgeois, was much impressed by the war ;
said he could never forget the first dead he saw
after the battle of the Marne, in a village near us ;

HORRORS OF WAR 211

fifty Germans lying- dead in the fields — and that
was nothing to what he felt when he came a little
later upon forty or fifty Frenchmen lying in heaps,
some with such expressions of suffering' on their
faces. He said he could hardly get past the bodies ;
as he turned into a courtyard of an old chateau, he
suddenly came upon a German soldier who was
terror-stricken, unarmed, throwing up his hands,
begging for life. ' I couldn't kill him, Madame,
there in cold blood, a perfectly helpless, unarmed
man — though I suppose I should have done it
with the bodies of my comrades lying so near.
But I couldn't. I took him prisoner and handed
him over to the authorities."

They all said what we often do, that no one
who had been through this war could ever be the
same again ; the entire mentality must change.

The boys listened with rapt attention, and
later, when he was g"oing to bed, the eldest one,
Willy, said to me : ' Why didn't he kill the wicked
German, Danny, who had killed so many French-
men r

This morning we hear the cannon distinctly,
about twenty miles away, the militaires say. They
went off early, at 4 this morning, to take food to
the men in the trenches near Soissons, and said it
was infernal— the sky a blaze of fire, and the steady
roar of the big guns. And here it is the Fete-Dieu ;
the children came early to the garden and carried
off as many roses as they could find, and one
or two reposoirs dressed with flowers have been
arranged on the road on the route of the procession ;
and the girls in their white frocks will scatter roses
before the sacrament. ' Le Bon Dieu qui passe"

212 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

as they say in the country, and all ought to be
peaceful and smiling.

During the mass every time there was a silence
in the church, we heard the long, steady growl of
the cannon, and we wonder who will be missing at
the roll-call.

We are taking the last train this evening for
Paris. It would be impossible to travel in the
daytime in this heat.

I am writing in my room, leaving written
instructions to Mme. G. and the mayor as to what
rooms I will give. I hear voices and laughter in
the garden, and see the boys having a fine game of
ball with Pinto, and Charlotte being photographed
under the little "pergola C." by one of the young
men. It has been curious and interesting living
there three or four days with the army. It has
brought us into such direct contact with the
soldiers. We have thought and talked of nothing
but the war. The autos and motor-cycles came in
and out of the courtyard all day, and we always
heard the rumble of the big autobuses as they
went backward and forward.

We sent our letters off by the military autos.
They passed twice a day and took our letters, if
we left them at the poste. The postal service is
very irregular, the telephone cut entirely, and the
telegraph reserved for the army. It was Mareuil
under a very different aspect.

Our soldiers told us they expected and hoped
to remain still ten days or a fortnight at Mareuil,
and they would certainly take care of the property.
We begged them to use the dining-room when we
had gone. As long as we were there they dined

MR WADDINGTOVS PAPERS 213

outside in the courtyard under the office windows ;
but it didn't disturb us at all as they dined much
earlier than we did. Mme. G. and the chauffeur
did their cooking, and I imagine the chauffeur did
ours too. They were all on the best of terms.

I wonder what the next turn of the wheel will
bring, and when and how we shall see Mareuil
again !

Rue de la Pompe,
Paris, Tuesday, x^th June.

I was busy in the morning, looking over and
putting into boxes Willy's papers — finished with
the Congres de Berlin and the Coronation of the
Emperor Alexander. It all seems another life
so far away.

All the Aisnc letters and newspapers were most
interesting. I found some sauf-conduits (passes)
from German officers, written in German, in 1870,
and various letters about prisoners, wounded
soldiers, and francs-tireurs, of whom the Germans
were always afraid — some letters from mayors
and farmers, all about Bourneville, from where W.
had sent soldiers to join Bourbaki's army.

I have put all the papers of that time together,
and when the war is over and Francis comes back,
we will arrange a book with the reminiscences of
the father and the son, of the two wars.

It is warm this evening. C. and I sat in the
small salon with open windows and no lights,
trying to make some sort of plans for the summer.
We give up this apartment on the 15th, and are
literally dans la rue. The doctor says we mustn't
establish ourselves at Mareuil ; there are so many

214 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

dead men and horses buried near us, in the fields,
that it would not be possible. We must let a
winter and cold weather pass before settling there
again.

The street is perfectly quiet and empty ; we
might be in any small provincial town — only the
search-lights from the Tour Eiffel sweep over it
from time to time.

Paris, Wednesday, \6thjune 191 5.

Many soldiers came to be dressed before going
back, and some of them brought wives and children ;
but the greater part of them were from the pays
£vacu£s, hadn't heard anything of their families
since the beginning of the war, in August. It is
very difficult to get any news from the departments
that are occupied by the Germans.

We had one or two people to dinner. Dr and
Mrs Watson, who have been untiring in their
work and sympathy for the fighting nations,
Mr H., the novelist, and Comte H. de P. The
last two men stayed on a little while, talking after
the others left.

Mr Herrick was just from Venice ; said the
enthusiasm there when war was declared and the
troops left was extraordinary, and the old hatred
of the Austrians flared out like fire. He was
much interested, too, in all Portes told him of
the feeling in the country, in France, which so
few foreigners ever get really to know — that
curious, respectful intimacy that exists in the
country, between the grand seigneur, the owner
of the chateau, and the village people, the butcher,
the farmer, the cantonnier, all with their opinions,

THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE 215

and all delighted to talk politics and agriculture
with the chatelain.

Paris, Thursday, x-Jh Jinn.

Another lovely summer day. H. and I went
late to the Bois ; had tea at the Chalet des Gauf-
fres, close to Paillard's. It was lovely sitting there
under the shade of the big trees, but so quiet and
empty. One would almost forget the war except
that every now and then a wounded soldier would
pass, sometimes head bandaged and arm in a
sling, and often a poor fellow limping along on
crutches, the trouser hanging loose from the knee,
a nurse In uniform walking with him. Everybody
had a " Bon jour, mon ami ! " for the soldiers, and
they seemed pleased at the sympathy.

Mine, de G. and Bella V. dined, and Bella was
most interesting. She had been to Nancy and
Luneville to see her husband, who commands a
cavalry regiment In those regions. It was the
first time she had seen any of the horrors of war,
as she was in England when the war broke out,
and couldn't get back to her home in Cambrai,
which is occupied by the Germans. She was
horror-stricken at the sights — ruined villages —
nuthing but heaps of ashes — desolated fields, with
every now and then a small mound and a rustic
cross of sticks, showing somebody was buried
there; one or two chateaux completely destroyed,
no roof, no windows, nothing but the four walls
standing, and great holes in them. The I.'s have
lost everything — all the inside of their beautiful
old chateau burned, and everything of value taken
.iway— accumulations of centuries, pictures, tapes-

i'

216 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

tries, books, nothing left. I wonder how many
more will be in the same condition before the end
of the war. The Germans will certainly burn
and plunder all the country behind them when
they begin their retreat — when ! . . .

Paris, Saturday, igt/i June.

We have been very much taken up with patterns
of masks at the ouvroir to-day. Something must
be found to protect the soldiers from the terrible
asphyxiating gas used by the Germans. The
nurses who have taken care of some of the poor
fellows who were caught in those vapours, said it
was awful to see them gasping and choking their
lives away. Our doctor says we ought to have
masks. If there should be a great Zeppelin raid
with poisoned bombs, and our windows got broken,
we should certainly need masks to protect our-
selves. I wonder if we would ever put them on.
I don't think there is much danger for us au ier,
but the maids on the sixth floor would feel
happier — so we will procure them for all the
household.

To-day has been a day of rumours, street
rumours, which all the maids hear and believe.
The metro (underground railway) — a tunnel
pierced through from Soissons to Paris — Paris to
be blown up! I think there should be a severe
punishment for the spreading of such reports.
Some people are easily frightened, and a panic in
the civil population might have had a bad effect
at the front.

I don't like the Zeppelin alarms myself, the

WORK OF AMERICAN LADIES 217

pompiers dashing through the streets with that
sinister "garde a vous," gets on my nerves.

Paris, Monday, 21st June 1 9 1 5.

I went with Anne B. this afternoon to help her
with her tea at the American Ambulance. Among
the many good things the Americans have done
since the war broke out, is their voluntary service at
the Ambulance, not only as nurses — many women
can't nurse, have no vocation, and are not young
enough, nor strong enough — but in many other
departments : bandage-room, lingerie, etc. Every
afternoon from 3 to 5 there is a tea provided by
American ladies for all the employes of the
Ambulance — nurses, doctors, orderlies, chauffeurs,
boy scouts. The ladies serve the tea themselves,
and it is no sinecure, as everybody takes two cups
of tea, some three. There are cakes and buns
unlimited.

It was interesting to see the different types of
nurses, some ladies, some professionals, of every
age and nationality, though, of course, most of
them are Americans. Some o( the young ones
(and very young some of them were) looked very
nice in their short skirts, long, white blouse
d' infirm iere, and a pretty little cap of tulle or
muslin on their heads ; some middle-aged, serious-
looking women, simply dressed in black or dark
blue with the white apron, who were extremely
glad to have a cup of tea, looked like good, steady
workers. It was amusing to see tall, broad-
shouldered chauffeurs asking for Lea not Leo stroll
One young fellow asked to have his very strong.

218 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

I said to him: "It is very bad for your nerves
to drink such strong tea." "I've done it for over
twenty- eight years, Madame, and it has done me
no harm yet." We talked a little (he was English),
and he told me he was the eldest of six brothers,
all soldiers at the front. "How old is the
youngest ? " "Just eighteen, Madame." "It was
wicked to let him go — a child!" "Couldn't keep
him, Madame; all his friends went.'" He had
just come back from the front where he had spent
twenty-four hours with four of his brothers, and
they had been photographed in the trenches.
" Have you got a father or mother in England
to send them the picture? " " Oh, yes, Madame ;
they have got the picture of the five of us, all
well."

Paris, Thursday, 24th June.

It is very warm. Agnes Welsh and I went to
the concert for the English Catholic church of
St Joseph. It was well done : girl and boy scouts
sold programmes, and made a background with
the flags of the Allies, when all their national airs
were sung. An Englishman with a pretty voice
sang " God Save the King." He sang two verses,
then requested the public to sing the last one with
him, and very well it sounded — every one singing,
including some wounded soldiers, French and
British, of whom there were a good many in the
salle. They ended by the "Marseillaise," very
well sung by Mme. H. of the Opera; and then,
too, all the public joined in at the last verse, and
the enthusiasm was frantic.

The " Star-Spangled Banner," under the head-

THE CHAMPS PI \ >PL> 219

ing of " Ndtional Airs o( the Allies," was also very
well sung by Miss M. (Let us hope it is a good
presage, and that the sympathies of the United
States are with the Allies, en attendant something-
more tangible.)

Paris, Saturday, 26/// June 191 5.

It was lovely this afternoon, though warm;
and H. and I went across the Champs Elys^es to
have tea at Laurent's. Charlotte and Frank met
us, and we had a pleasant hour sitting- under the
trees. It was quite a new aspect of the well-
known cafe to me. I have lunched and dined
there so often in the old days. I remember a
dinner there only last June, the garden filled with
pretty women, very much dressed or undressed,
in that extraordinary fashion of last year, just
before the war, when all the women wore trans-
parent, clinging garments — Tziganes playing,
jeunesse doree smoking expensive cigars and dis-
cussing the winner of the Grand Prix. Paris at
its gayest at the end of a brilliant season. All
those men have gone now, some in the ranks as
simple privates, facing the awful days in the
trenches, and all sorts of privations, without a
murmur. Many have fallen, many come back
crippled for life, and many more must fall before
this awful war is over!

There were few people in the garden — women
and children — some nurses in their uniform, with
soldiers and officers, all taking tea.

We asked a young officer, evidently on the
Staff, if the news was good (there is so much
Camaraderie now, everybody speaks to everybody).

220 JANUARY TO JUNE, 1915

" Mais oui, Madame, nous les repoussons lentement,
bien lentement, mais iis reculent ! "

Paris, Sunday, 21th June 191 5.

Again a lovely summer day. I met Comtesse
de Franqueville (nee Lady Sophia Palmer) coming;
out of the English church, and we walked home
together. She was funny over her own people ;
says the English are just waking up to facts after
eleven months of war, and realising that they
have a terrible fight before them, and a cruel,
vindictive enemy who must be crushed. She also
said all her people couldn't say enough about the
French, not only of their fighting qualities (they
are a righting race), but of their quiet, steady
determination to go on to the bitter end.

Rue de la Pompe,
Paris, Monday, 2%th June.

Anything so perfectly uncomfortable as my
apartment can't be imagined. One salon is
crammed with furniture, chairs standing on tables
— trunks and boxes everywhere ; the large salon
and the smoking-room filled with garments,
blankets, etc., for the refugees.

Charlotte has done very well with the ouvroir
pour la vallee de l'Aisne. People have sent most
generous contributions from England and America,
and the ladies themselves have made a great many
things. The young women of the U.S. Embassy
have worked with her, and they have a very good
collection of clothes, from babies' shirts to men's

THE BISHOP OF SOISSONS 221

waistcoats and trousers, also sheets and blankets.
She has filled several strong" linen bags, also made
at the ouvroir, with clothes, and is sending- off a
large envoi to the Bishop of Soissons, who has
made an appeal for help for the unfortunate
peasants in his diocese, where hundreds of villages
have disappeared entirely, nothing- left but a black,
charred plain.

The bishop remained at Soissons through
many bombardments, living in a cellar with his
parishioners. He only came away when the
bombardment ceased a little, as he felt he could do
more for his people if he could move about and
tell of their wretched situation.

JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

Paris, Friday, 2nd July 191 5.

It was very warm this morning-. I lunched with
Mme. de G. and Bella ; Arthur and Charlotte were
there. Arthur was very interesting", telling- us
about his usines (factories). He was asked to
remain at his place. (He had a brother, brother-
in-law, a nephew, and three cousins at the front —
five Wadding-tons "sous le drapeau "), and keep his
factories going to make as much material as he
could for the army. But how? with whom? All
his best workmen had gone to the front. It is in
such cases that one realises what mobilisation
means in France — all the nation in arms. He
decided to risk it with some of the old workmen
and women, and is doing- very well, the women
working- perfectly.

The women have been up to the mark every-
where, working in the fields, driving cabs and
ambulances, and now there are several woman
conductors on the big tramways. They look very
well in a long, black blouse, which completely
covers their dresses, the regulation sacoche (black
leather bag) slung over the shoulder, with a leather
strap, and a bonnet de police on their heads.

The other day, when I was going by the tram

222

WOMEN TRAM -CONDUCTORS 223

to the rue de la Pompe, a man in the tram was very
rude to the woman conductor, who was young",
evidently quite new to her work, and who wasn't
quite sure of the stops at the street corners. He
spoke very roughly and rather jostled her, so that
she nearly fell out of the car. The men in the
train remonstrated vigorously, and the man had
to get out.

Paris, 4/// July.

A very hot day. C. and I and the boys went
up to the Bois to lunch at the " Racing Club " with
the M.'s. There were not many people; the
breakfast good, though the service was slow.
There were only two waiters for about half a
dozen tables. We had ours outside, under the
trees, and were quite cool and comfortable. The
club is in the middle of the Bois, quite shut in
by big trees. No one was playing tennis except
some Japanese, who were playing extremely well,
as they do everything. They were correctly
dressed in white flannels, used all the English
terms, but looked perfectly exotic. It was curious
to see their yellow faces, with keen, narrow eyes and
yellow hands coming out of the white flannel shirt.

We had the papers, but they are not interesting,
the war news very brief, each day's communique
exactly like its predecessor, and will be, I suppose,
until some great battle or the defection of one of
the Middle Empires gives a real result.

PARIS, Friday, gilt July.

Charlotte took the little gold she still had to the
Banque de France this morning. The country has

224 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

called upon every one to take their gold to the
bank, where it will be exchanged for notes. We
hadn't much, as we had given all ours to Francis.
In the beginning of the war people said all the men
must have gold on them, as in case they were made
prisoners, the gold would be useful ; so they all
had louis sewn in a belt, which they always wear.
Now they say just the contrary, that they must
have no gold, and as little money as possible,
as the Germans take everything. One didn't
realise until the war had really lasted some time,
what a large part lying and stealing play in the
Teuton's idea of a glorious and wonderful war.

C. said it was most interesting at the bank.
Quantities of people, a great many guichets open,
and everything done quickly and with the greatest
order. One man next to her, brought a little
chamois bag, out of which he shook ten thousand
francs in gold. Next to him was a boy with a
ten-franc gold piece — his last etrenne (New Year's
gift). A great many women bringing twenty to
forty francs. Everybody received notes in ex-
change and a ticket :

BANQUE DE FRANCE

Versement pour la Defense Nationale

" La Banque de France constate que Madame Wadding-
ton a verse ce jour en or, la somme de . . . en ^change de
billets de banque. Le 12 juillet 19 15."

We will keep the ticket as a souvenir of the war.

AMERICAN AID

PARIS, Saturday, \oth July t 9 1 5 .

A nice-looking" young Belgian officer came to
see me this morning, to collect some money which
friends in America had sent me for an English-
man who is organising a field-kitchen at the
Belgian front. He says what America has done
in Belgium is superb. Thousands of people would
have starved to death if America hadn't come to
the front so liberally. She is now extending her
work to the north of France, where the misery is
appalling.

Charlotte and I did some shopping for Francis
in the afternoon. He asked for a big cake, iced,
for their 14th July banquet, to be sent to a
Champagne merchant in whose house they are
living, and who was going- down to Rheims. We
made him a fine paquet of cakes, cigars, bonbons,
jam, etc. They are so pleased at the front to
have a few douceurs.

As we had gone to Colombin's for the cakes,
we stayed to tea. I hadn't been there since last
summer. There were a few people, among others
.Mrs Bacon, whom I was delighted to see again ;
every one liked them so much when they were
at the Embassy here.

PARIS, Tuesday, i$th July.

It has poured, a regular downfall all day, but
we are all delighted as the country was drying up
for want of rain. When I was starting to meet
Bessie Talleyrand, with whom I had made an
appointment to go to the Italian Hospital, H.
said : ' I suppose you will take yuur waterproof?"

226 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

I wished I could, but some German Frau is prob-
ably walking about very happily in it, as all the
cloaks and rugs that were in the hall at Mareuil
were stolen.

I found Bessie at the Gare des Invalides,
Josephine with her, just arrived from Rome. Both
her sons are at the front with the Italian army,
and she has passed her examination as nurse, and
is enrolled at the Italian Red Cross, but there are
no wounded yet in Rome, so she asked for a week's
leave to come up and see us all here.

We found Palma, Princess di Poggio, Sousa,
Bessie's daughter Comtesse Simeon, at the hos-
pital, which is very well arranged — large, clean
rooms opening on a garden. The men looked
well cared for and as comfortable as they could
be. One poor young fellow, with a refined artist's
face, a sculptor, had his leg off. Bessie had
arranged to give him an artificial leg, one of the
good ones, light and articulated, and he was so
grateful.

He and two others were in the same room, all
moving about convalescents. Two had been at
the battle of the Marne, and couldn't say enough
about General Maunoury, who was in command.

My nephew, a colonel of dragoons, said the
other day the battle of the Marne was a miracle,
... a miracle that saved Paris.

We went all over the hospital, ending at the
two upper floors which the Duchesse de C. directs
and runs entirely at her own expense. The rooms
are quite beautiful, high and light and white ; not
a hospital smell of any kind, and even on this
dismal afternoon they looked bright. Eight or

A FETE DAY 227

ten men, all convalescent (one with his left arm
amputated), were sitting at a table in the big
window at one end of the gallery — an infirmiere —
and M. C who is devoted and so kind to the
men, teaching them to make artificial flowers out
of mie de pain (bread-crumb). The infirmiere,
who turned out to be Mme. Boni, the famous
danseuse from the Opera (Italian-born), was
showing them, and talking so easily and nicely
to the men. It seems they all adore her, and
sometimes she dances for them.

1 1 is curious how all professions, dancers, singers,
lecturers, find work among the soldiers.

We had tea in the officers' and infirmieres'
dining-room — no one there but ourselves.

Paris, Wednesday, 14th July.

Such a quiet fete ; no illuminations, no flags,
no dancing in the streets at the principal carrefours.
There was quite a display of military. To mark
the day in some way, they had transported the
body of Rouget de Lisle (author of " La Marseil-
laise") to the Invalides. A fine regiment of
cuirassiers passed and were wildly cheered by the
crowd. Some of the women saluted the flag by
the military salute. It looked rather pretty. It
is difficult for the infirmieres to return the salute.
All the officers and soldiers salute an infirmiere
ill Red Cross uniform, and I think it would be
petty if all the women could answer in the same
way.

A great many wounded soldiers were walking
about the Champs Elysees, and many people gave

228 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

them cigarettes and tobacco. I was so sorry I
hadn't any with me. One hardly likes to give
money.

Paris, Friday, \6thjuly.

I was at the ouvroir all the afternoon. Pro-
fessor Hall with his wife and daughter came in.
They are so interested in France and the war,
and appreciate so thoroughly how splendidly
France has come out since the war (nearly a
year now) that it is a pleasure to see them.

Paris, Saturday, x^th July 191 5.

I had a nice afternoon at Versailles. C. met
me at the station. We went first to see the rooms
at the hotel, which are charming, large and airy,
giving on the boulevard de la Reine. Then we
found the boys in the park and sat there for
some time. It rained at intervals, little summer
showers, but one is completely sheltered under the
big trees or little recesses cut out in the high, stiff
box-hedges. Soldiers in uniform were doing the
gardening, clipping, watering, etc. We had tea
at an "At Home," one of the numerous new tea
places on the place d'Armes, which have developed
since two or three years. Mrs Bliss and Mrs
Hall came in. They had been to see a colony of
French and Belgian children, orphans. It seems
that there are thirty or forty babies of two years
of whom no one — not even the two Belgian nuns
who brought them — knows anything — neither
their names nor parents. They were found in
cellars with a lot of miserable children.

\ SOLDIERS' "CANTINE* 229

P vris, S iay\ \%thjuly.

I went to the Gare du Nord this morning to
send off some packages to Soissons, and to ask
about some that had been announced to me from
England (They, of course, hadn't come. I
wonder who gets all the packages that I don't.)

I wanted, too. to see the cantine where
Charlotte works. She was just starting for the
English train. She is one of the queteuses, which
is rather hard work, as they go into all the
carriages, just a few minutes before the train starts,
and have to scramble out in a hurry when they
are told. Occasionally the ladies don't get off in
time, and are carried off to the next station.

She looked very nice in her white dress and
coiffe, and absurdly young. She has had some
funny experiences. She heard two young men
saying in English: " We must give ten francs to
that pretty girl," and when she thanked them in
English, they were much surprised. "Oh, we
didn't know you were English," and much more,
when she said : ' I am not English, I am French ! "

She generally gets a very good collecte.

I went over the cantine with her afterward,
which is very well arranged. Two long wooden
tables spotlessly clean — and an excellent meal —
all served by ladies, who wipe the table each time
a plate or dish that has been used is taken off.
At the end of the hall there are about fifty beds,
where the poor men who are too ill or too tired
to go on can rest.

I talked to some of the men. As a rule they
looked well. Almost all, as they went out, put

230 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

a sou in the box that was at the door, marked :
"Pour les repas du soldat." I said to our men:
"C'est bien 9a?" "Oh, yes, Madame, we have
had a good meal ; we must leave something- for
our comrades who, perhaps, will need it more."

Versailles, Monday, iqtkjufy.

I came out yesterday for Frank's birthday.
We spent all the afternoon in the park, down by
the canal, where there is a very good little
restaurant. We brought out the birthday cake,
which the patissiere explained she could not make
as she would like, with his name and age in
beautiful coloured letters on the white icing — as
she was so short of hands. But she did put a bow
of ribbon and a flower.

There were a great many people at the
restaurant, French and British officers with pretty,
well-dressed women under the red umbrellas which
made charming little niches under the trees.

There were boats of every description on the
canal, and autos waiting on the road. All the
warriors are enjoying themselves immensely. We
stayed in the park until 7 o'clock. There was
nothing but uniforms to be seen. The soldiers
come out from 6 to 8, and every one had a girl
hanging on his arm. They foretell an extraordinary
increase of population. I would certainly prefer
English babies to German, if we are to have
a great infusion of foreign blood.

The chateau looked beautiful as we walked up
to the terrace, all its great fagade of windows a
blaze of light from the setting sun ; and in the

AT THE GARE DU NOKD Sol

distance, over the trees and canal, that soft blue
mist that one sees so often in Versailles at the end
of the day.

As it was a birthday we made a great exception
and dined at the Reservoirs. There were a good
many people, pretty women and officers dining.
We walked back to our Hotel Vatel, and it rather
reminded me of Marienbad — people dining outside
at all the cafes, and women walking about alone,
quite independent.

It is C.'s ouvroir day. I am sorry to leave. It
was so cool and fresh this morning, and so resting
to the eyes after the pavement of Paris. Our
rooms are on the third floor, and we look straight
into the big trees of the boulevard de la Reine.

PARIS, Thursday, 29/// July.

I went with Agnes Welsh this morning to see
Charlotte at the cantine of the Gare du Nord.
Mr Washburn met us there. He is very keen
about everything connected with the war, and
wants to see everything and help where he can.

There were a great many people on the quais,
and I left Agnes to look for Charlotte while I went
to the cantine to see if she was there. She wasn't.
The old man who presides told me she was making
her quete. The room was full of soldiers ; every
table taken, and there were a great many waiting
outside — all their hats and rifles piled up, and on
each knapsack a big loaf of pain du soldat — such
nice-looking rye bread, pain de seigle, they call it
here. I went back to the quai, where I found
Charlotte. She was on the best of terms with

Q

232 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

all the railway officials, who were all smiling at
her. She still had two more trains to make, and
we waited on the quai.

The crowd was interesting-, quantities of soldiers
of all kinds — permissionnaires, who were met
and embraced by wives, mothers, and sisters ;
squads of fresh young men starting off to the
front, and melancholy groups of one-armed, one-
legged men, cheerful in spite of their mutilation,
and so proud still of the uniform. When they are
finally out of the hospitals and unfit for active
service, they must, of course, give up the uniform,
which is a great blow to them. Even those who
have only worn it a few months, who were wounded
early, hold to their pantalon rouge. I think the
Government must give a badge or medal of some
kind to the men who were wounded in the war.

When C. had finished, we went back to the
cantine, and Agnes gave medals and tobacco to
the soldiers. There was an interesting man there,
just from Arras, with one shoulder badly hurt.
He had seen horrors. Germans packed into a
Red Cross ambulance, calling for help. When the
French soldiers went forward to open the door,
a mitrailleuse, hidden inside, mowed them down
like grass.

They give the men an excellent meal : soup,
very good, a dish of meat and vegetables, cheese,
fruit, coffee, and wine or beer.

Charlotte came back to breakfast and went off
immediately to Versailles.

FALL OF WARSAW 233

Paris, $th August.

We are having beautiful summer days, and
usually at this season are established either at the
seashore or else at one of our favourite summer
resorts, at Marienbad — but this year it is difficult
to know where to go. All the hotels at the sea-
side are used as military ambulances, or else closed
altogether, and besides we are all so busy that it
doesn't seem right to leave Paris.

It isn't very warm. I go up to the Bois some-
times in the morning. It is empty, a few old
gentlemen sitting on the benches reading the
papers — nurses and children — not many.

Warsaw has fallen, but I don't think it is a very
brilliant victory for the Germans. The Russians
stripped the town of everything before leaving,
and retreated in perfect order. I fancy we shall
hear no more of the grand triumphal entrance
the Kaiser was to make with the Empress, who
was said to be waiting at Hindenburg's head-
quarters, with splendid robes and jewels for the
grande rentree. . . .

Paris, Monday, yt/i August.

It has been grey and warm. I went to the
cantine of the Gare St Lazare after dinner to
get Charlotte, who was de service there — had been
there since 4 o'clock. Both she and Mine. d'A.,
who was working with her, seemed rather ex-
hausted with the heat and fatigue. However,
both ladies were carrying about trays with bowls of
hot bouillon, and huge pieces of bread and sausage.

They don't give an entire hot meal at the can-

234 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

tine after 7.30 (dinner), but they have hot bouillon,
coffee, bread, cheese, and cold meat at night. The
military trains arrive at all hours and always after
the appointed time.

There were quite a number of soldiers ; some of
them looked too tired to eat. Two young ones
with fever could hardly stand. They were given
beds to have a good rest for their early start the
next morning.

They have ten beds and a bath in a room along-
side of the dining-room. An infirmiere is always
there, day and night. The cantine is supported
by the quetes (collections) the ladies make in the
trains. They go in couples to all the outgoing
trains, at the last moment, when the passengers
are all seated. Madeleine got twenty francs the
other day from a lady in the English train, who
was very frightened and nervous about the cross-
ing, and hoped the louis would bring her good
luck with all the mines and submarines.

It certainly isn't a pleasant moment to cross
the Channel with the danger of being sunk — and
always the interminable waits at the douane and
passport bureaux.

All the service at the cantine is voluntary.
No one is paid except the cook and a boy who
washes the dishes. They give a very good meal
— soup, meat, vegetables, cheese, as much bread
as they like, and beer, wine, or coffee — whichever
they prefer, all gratis, of course. The meals cost
the cantine fifty centimes a head. I can't imagine
how they can do it so cheaply, but Mme. de B.,
who runs it, is an excellent manager. She is there
every day, sometimes twice a day.

POLYGLOT TROOPS 235

The quete entirely covers the expenses, in fact
more than covers them, as they have a fair sum
in reserve.

I stood at the door some little time, watch-
ing- the crowd of soldiers of all arms, ages, and
colours. There were some Senegalese, black as
ink, and yellow Moroccans who passed. Many
looked wistfully at the open door and the two
long tables filled with soldiers, and all were told
to come in. They deposited their kits outside,
waiting their turn, and were so pleased to talk a
little and smoke a cigarette. I had a provision
with me. They respond instantly to any mark of
interest. Even the black Senegalais who couldn't
speak French, broke into a broad smile when
C. appeared in her infirmiere dress, and said :
' Merci, ma sceur : moi manger!" So she in-
stalled him at one of the tables and brought him
his soup.

We came away about 10.30 ; soldiers were still
coming. The infirmiere in the medical room and
her two young fellows were asleep — couldn't eat
anything, but they would have a good breakfast
in the morning.

I left C. at her hotel, where she had some
difficulty in getting in. The staff of servants is
considerably reduced. The hall porter is a child
twelve years old, who naturally was fast asleep in
a big chair, and didn't hear anything.

Paris, Saturday, \^th August.

I went down again to Mareuil for twenty-
four hours on Thursday. We still have French

236 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

soldiers in the house, some of the officers very
exacting- ; and Mme. G. felt unable to cope with
them.

It was dark when we arrived, at 9 o'clock, and
we had to grope our way across the track and
into the little salle, where every one was obliged to
show their sauf-conduits ; eight or ten unfortunate
people were not en regie, hadn't the necessary
papers, and were sadly preparing- to spend the
night at the station in the dark. One woman,
well dressed and speaking in an educated voice,
came to ask me if I was also kept, and did I know
Mareuil ; was there any hotel or auberge of any
kind where she could go for the night. Mme. G.,
who had come to meet us with her lantern, said
she thought there were good clean rooms at the
only hotel in the village. We all walked off to-
g-ether in the dark, and the poor woman looked
so forlorn, I told her she had much better stop
at my house. I could give her a bed and a meal.
She was very shy, and when I named myself, that
seemed to make matters worse. She couldn't think
of intruding-. I insisted a little, but she evidently
couldn't make up her mind to come. I couldn't
see her very well in the dark, but I think she was
a boutiquiere of a good class, or the wife of a small
farmer. Her voice and language were perfectly
good, like so many women of that class, who
express themselves well and have very good
manners.

One of the railway men was walking behind us,
so I told him to take the lady to the hotel and see
that she got a good room. We parted at our gate.
I told her if she couldn't find a decent room, to

UNPLEASANT INMATES 237

come back, but she didn't, and I suppose found
what she wanted.

I found no officers at the house except a
corporal de gendarmerie who is always there, and
whom we are glad to have, as it is a certain
protection.

Mme. G. was very eloquent over her last band
of soldiers: the officer most disagreeable, wanting
to make various changes in the room — among
other things, to knock down a cloison (partition).
When she protested, he answered: " C'est la
guerre ! Mme. Waddington a bien donne" sa maison
aux Allemands ; elle ne peut pas la refuser aux
Francais ! " " Donne" " is perhaps not exactly the
term to use, as the Germans took forcible possession
of an empty house.

Naturally, I shouldn't dream of refusing the
house to French soldiers, and wouldn't want to!

Francis is very comfortably lodged in a small
chateau with a good library and plenty of books,
and a large airy room.

However, that unwelcome officer didn't stay
very long, though he told Mme. G. the place
suited him, and he should stay a month ; but he
was sent on after two or three days.

The cure came to dinner, and we sat out
afterward. I tried not to see the potatoes and
only smell the roses, which are beautiful. I have
never seen them so lovely, climbing ones, of course.
The whole side of the house is covered with such
lovely white roses, but only the climbers. All the
flower-beds were trampled over by the German
horses, also the herbaceous border around the boys'
lawn.

238 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

I told Mme. G. to lock certain rooms, and left
a note for the mayor, who didn't come to see me,
asking him to insist upon the soldiers occupying
only the rooms I indicated in the old house.

We heard the cannon distinctly all the afternoon.
The cure says the passage of the troops is awfully
hard on the poor people, as they carry off every-
thing— blankets, mattresses, etc. Of course one
can understand the poor fellows, cold and wet, not
being able to resist taking a blanket when they
can get one. And I imagine all soldiers do the
same, but it is awfully hard on the village people,
who have not yet replaced all the Germans took.
Many of them are still sleeping on straw, covered
with sacks.

He says, too, that the troops of refugees are
melancholy. The big salle at the mairie is never
empty. They put down fresh straw every day,
and the village takes bread and milk to the
unfortunate women and children, who rest a day
or two, then start off on their long, weary tramp
to find homes that have ceased to exist.

Paris, Wednesday, 18 th August.

I was at the ouvroir early, then stopped to see
Charlotte, who was starting for the Gare de l'Est
with the boys and a camp-stool, to meet Francis.
The train was due at 6, but there was sure to be
a delay. She had already been there Tuesday,
thinking he might perhaps come, and said it was
interesting to see the long file of women — mothers,
wives, and children, waiting for their men. The
line stretched out nearly across the great court-

ON LEAVE 239

yard ; some had brought camp-stools, but most of
them sat on the ground. She said it was pretty
to see how each permissionnaire was welcomed as
he arrived, his whole family embracing him, children
clinging to his coat-tails, and carrying his bag.

Our soldier got here about 8.30, looking very
well and gay, so pleased to be with us all again.

Mine. Sallandrouze and Madeleine dined, and
we were a very happy family party.

He wears his uniform very well, quite as if he
had been accustomed to it all his life. The boys
couldn't keep off him. They all went off early,
as he had had a long night's journey. He stays
until next Wednesday, a short week ; but one is
grateful for very small favours in war-time, and it
is everything to have him back, well and gay, and
confident that things are going well with us.

Paris, Thursday, 19/// August 1915.

We all lunched with Mme. Sallandrouze, who
was delighted to have her two military menages,
as the R.'s are here too. He is on sick leave,
having had trouble with his heart. Both men were
most cheerful, telling us all sorts of experiences.

Francis went off directly after luncheon with
Charlotte, to order himself shirts and a new tunic.
I insisted on the whole party coming to have tea
with me at Laurent's in the Champs Elysees.

I met Norah G., who wanted very much to see
Francis, and told her to come too, and we had a
very pleasant afternoon, sitting under the trees —
the two men making quite a pretty bit of colour in
their bleu horizon. Every garcon in the place was

240 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

around our table, fascinated by the stories both
men were telling.

Francis, Charlotte, and the boys dined with us,
and he played a little after dinner. It seemed quite
the old times, except for the talk and the change
in him. He has grown older, graver, with a curious
steady look in his eyes. The conversation was
exclusively war. He said such curious things
happened with so many men of all kinds serving in
the ranks, particularly in the Territorials. His
commandant (major) said to him one day that he
had just done such a stupid thing. He was
superintending the unloading of a camion filled
with heavy rough planks. He thought some of
the soldiers were slow, lazy, and called out to them
rather sharply: "Voyons, voyons, il faut que cela
finisse ; un peu plus d'energie!" Still there were
one or two who seemed awkward, didn't know how
to handle the heavy planks, one particularly, a
man about thirty-five years old. Finally he
apostrophised him directly, saying: "Don't you
know how to work ? You look strong enough !
What did you do before the war?" "Mon
Commandant, I was professeur au College de
France."

One of Francis' comrades is the son of a well-
known big Paris grocer, like Potin — a very nice
fellow. They were very good friends. One day
he came in looking rather glum, didn't seem dis-
posed to talk. Francis couldn't understand what
the matter was. At last the young fellow said :
" I hear you are the cousin of the smart Colonel
of Cuirassiers who was stationed here, with the
same name." "Yes, he is my first cousin." "Oh,

FRANCIS WADDINGTON 241

I hear, too, that you are the son of an Ambassador!"
"Yes, my father was ten years Ambassador in
London." Still silence; then: "I suppose that
after the war you won't want to see me any more ;
we shall never meet ; you won't know me." " That
is not at all nice of you to say. I shall always be
delighted to see you, and after the war is over, if
we both come out of it, I hope you will come to
see me often, and we will talk over war-times and
life in the trenches, and all the days of close
camaraderie we spent together." He was rather
mollified, but it was some time before he could
quite get back to the old footing.

Paris, Sunday, 22nd August 1 9 1 5

To-day was lovely, a bright sun, but cool.
Francis, Charlotte, and the Tiffanys dined.
Francis had been to the club where his friends
(the old gentlemen) were delighted to see him.
There are no young ones left in town, and the
embusques who work at the Minist£res or Etat-
Major don't show themselves at the club.

We had very good champagne, which Francis'
friends had sent for him to drink while he was
en permission. When he is at Rheims he lives
with these Champagne people, who are devoted
to him. Madame, who has had six sons, took
care of him when he was ill.

We drank " France, et les Allies" standing, and
sang all the national airs after dinner. We tried
to be gay, but with such heavy hearts, not daring
to face the future.

242 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

Paris, Tuesday, 24M August 191 5.

It has been warm all day. Francis came up to
Charlotte's ouvroir for the valine de l'Aisne. He
was much pleased at the way she had managed
the thing-, and decidedly impressed with all the
trunks and wardrobes full of clothes.

The Welshes came to dinner for his last evening
and were so interested in all he told them. The
two boys are on his back all day, and Charlotte
looks radiant, her eyes like stars.

Paris, Wednesday, 25^// August 1915.

I went to the hotel before breakfast to see if
Francis had all he wanted, and to decide upon a
small apartment for Charlotte, and another school
for the boys. They came to breakfast, then went
off for last commissions. Everybody gave him
things — a pipe, cigars, two bottles of old brandy,
books, kodak. He went off at 5. Charlotte went
with him to the station. I took the boys for a
turn in the Bois. They were rather tearful when
he bade them good-bye and told them they were
big boys now, and must take care of their mother
and " Danny." For me there was nothing more
to do, only a kiss and "God bless you, Mother!"
and he was gone. The partings are hard when
the last moment really comes.

Paris, Saturday, 28M August 19 15.

Charlotte said that the scene at the Gare de
l'Est on Wednesday night, when Francis left, was

RUSSIAN NAVAL VICTORY 243

wonderful. Hundreds of women and children
saying good-bye to their sons and husbands, and
all so courageous, smiling, and making all sorts of
plans for apres la guerre ; not a tear, as long as the
train was there. When it moved off, the soldiers
cheering and singing, and all the people on the
quais cheering, some of them broke down.

I always think of the poor little girl in the first
days of the mobilisation, trying to be brave, when
the gars told her not to cry : " Nous reviendrons ! "
— looking up at me through her tears: "Tous ne
reviendront pas, Madame ! "

We are all delighted with the Russian naval
victory at Riga ; it seems as if the tide was turn-
ing. The Germans may find a winter campaign
ill Russia as fatal as Napoleon did.

We have just heard of d'Agoult's death — such
a charming fellow. He was for some time naval
attache at London with us, and we liked him and
his wife both so much. They have had so much
trouble, have lost three sons.

1'akis, Friday, yd September 1915.

A letter from Francis to-day, saying the order
has come from General Headquarters for him to
pass his examination of Interpreter at last ; that
looks as if he would be named. He is so anxious
for it, is tired of carrying despatches. I wonder
where he will go.

It has been very cool to-day. Some people had
tires.

244 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

Paris, Saturday, \th September 19 15.

It is still cold to-day. I went late to see
Comtesse d'Agfoult. Poor thing, she looks miser-
able ; heard the news from a friend of d'Agoult's,
a naval officer sent from the Ministere de la
Marine, to tell her. She thought he had come to
see her about a bicycle, welcomed him most cheer-
fully until she saw his face. " Madame, I have
not come to speak to you about the bicycle. I
have bad news for you. M. d'Agmilt is wounded,
severely wounded." She said his face told her
the truth. She merely asked: "When was he
killed?" "How?" "By a shell." " He died in
two hours ; never regained consciousness."

It was a melancholy visit. We went back to
the old days when he was naval attache in London,
and we were all so fond of him. They had a fine
little family, three boys and one girl. All the
boys are dead, and now he, the last of his name.
He needn't have gone to the front, was over fifty ;
but he said he had no sons to fight for France ;
he must go himself.

As I was walking across the bridge I met Mrs
Watson, who picked me up and we went for a
turn to the lakes. The Bois was almost deserted ;
but the Champs Elysees looked fairly alive with
some lights in the avenue and the various
hospitals.

I hope Charlotte and the boys are enjoying
the seashore. The children have been so long in
Paris and were pining for a beach where they
could run all day, and not be told all the time
not to make a noise and break furniture and

PRESIDENT WILSON 245

gallop over people's heads in a hotel. Town is no
place for strong, cheerful boys, country-bred.

Paris, Sunday, 5/// September.

A beautiful warm day. I went with Bessie to
Bagatelle to see the Russian Field-Ambulance they
have just sent to France, and which starts for the
front to-morrow morning-. It looked most com-
plete— the operating-room on wheels. There were
a great many people there, in fact all over the
Bois, and uniforms and languages of every
description.

Paris, Wednesday, 8t/i September.

The days are so exactly alike that one loses all
count of time. Many of the Americans here are
very hard on Wilson and the ridiculous position
in which he has placed the country: "America,
the laughing-stock of the world ! " I should think
D. must go (and Bernstorff long ago) ! When one
remembers how Sackvillc- West was given his pass-
ports for so much less important reasons!

Paris, Friday, iot/1 September.

Still lovely warm weather. We had a great
many soldiers and soldiers' wives at the ouvroir
to-day. Some of the women look so absolutely
miserable All want work, but we can't ^ive to
all. Our funds are getting exhausted. The
ouvroir has been working since the beginning of
the war (August 191 4). People have been most
generous. There was a magnificent elan at first,

246 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

but of course no one thought the war would last
so long-. The Kaiser said he should sleep in Paris
on the 2 ist August 191 4. Apparently he changed
his mind! . . .

Paris, Tuesday, \\th September.

There is no especial war news. The Russians
seem doing better. We see a good many people
at the ouvroir, but no one really knows anything
of what is going on.

I have decided to go to Petites Dalles for ten
days. Outrey will take me down. He told me
I could not go with an ordinary sauf-conduit, as
it was a watering-place on the coast, and the
whole coast was infested with spies. I must have
two witnesses to say they know all about me, and
to certify that I was a respectable woman, not a
femme legere! He could be one witness, and I
asked my friend the restaurateur at the corner
of the street to be the other. He looked so
respectable and well-dressed when I picked him
up at the cafe, and was beaming at the idea of
testifying to the respectability of "Son Excellence
Madame l'Ambassadrice."

The Commissaire de Police knows me perfectly
well, as I have to get a sauf-conduit every time
I go down to Mareuil. The officer looked at all
my papers, then remarked : " Madame, you are
not a Frenchwoman born ! " " Monsieur, you can
see that on my certificat de manage." " Were my
American parents living?" Then: "How tall
are you?" "I should think you could see that
as I am standing before you." But it wasn't
enough. I had to stand up under a measuring-

AMERICAN OPINIONS 247

board (like a criminal), and he took down my
exact height. It was really too stupid. But all
French people love red - tape, and the smaller
officials revel in their authority.

My two witnesses were also subjected to a strict
examination, though their papers were en regie.

I had an interesting visit after breakfast from
.i Chicago man, Mr K., a friend of Ambassador
I Ierrick, who gave him a letter to me. As it was
my day at the ouvroir, I was obliged to go out at
once, and suggested to him that he should come
with me and see our work. He was interested in
all he saw, and promised to try and help us when
he got back to America. It was quite interesting
to hear an impartial, intelligent American man
discuss the war. Some of the Americans here,
particularly the women, are quite hysterical when
they talk about Wilson's policy, and war in the
United States between Americans and Germans ;
they say they are ashamed of being Americans.
He laughed at the idea of any revolution in
America; said the Germans talked very senti-
mentally about their Kaiser and their "Vater-
land," but that, if it came to the point, not one
of them would leave their good solid business,
bankers and brewers, and throw in their lot with
Germany.

Petitks Dallas, 23^/ September.

We have had some lovely bright summer days
in this pretty little Norman village. It consists of
one street running down to the beach, a small
stretch of galcts (pebbles), very little sand, and
shut in by high cliffs at each side. There are a

R

248 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

few shops and houses in the street, but most
people take one of the villas on the cliff, or else
a little back in the country, which is lovely — broad
roads with splendid old trees.

There is a hotel on the beach which has been
turned into a hospital. No one in it now, but
they are expecting wounded and refugees every
day. The other hotel, where we are, is at a little
distance from the beach, up a hill, has a nice
terrace where we sit and have our coffee after
lunch, and get a view of the sea.

It was curious to be in a place where there was
no sign of war ; no sick or wounded soldiers, no
Red Cross flags anywhere, no nurses in uniform,
no men except old ones, quantities of nurses and
children. The only thing that made one think of
war was the crowd of people (the whole village)
waiting at the little fruit-stall for the papers,
everybody talking to his neighbour and discussing
the communiques.

There is no especial news these days ; the
Russians have evacuated Vilna — always the same
tactics — removing everything of value and retreat-
ing in good order.

Bulgaria is inquietante ; she is mobilising, and
no one knows what that crafty Ferdinand means
to do. It all seemed unreal when we were talking
on the beach, watching the sun dip down into the
sea, and the lovely sunset clouds that threw a soft,
beautiful light over everything.

The weather got much cooler about the end of
the month, and we were glad to leave. We were
the only people left in the hotel. The big dining-
room looked forlorn with no table but ours.

IVETOT 249

We had a beautiful day to leave — a big omnibus
with three Norman posters with high red collars
and bells came over from Ivetot to get us. We
went through lovely country, sometimes passing
chateaux with great wide avenues with the double
border of trees one sees so often in Normandy ;
sometimes little farmhouses, with gardens and
orchards, a few cows grazing placidly in the fields.
Scarcely any horses and no men. Everywhere
the women were working in the fields.

Our horses took us at a very good pace, trotted
steadily up and down hill, so that we really made
our journey quite rapidly. It was a pleasant
change to be in a horse-vehicle, and not to dash
through everything in clouds of dust in a motor-
car.

At Ivetot there was a complete change. The
little town and the station were filled with soldiers,
" Tommies," most of them evidently fresh arrivals,
their uniforms quite smart and new, showing no
signs of campaign.

There were several pretty young English
nurses, evidently on the best of terms with the
warriors.

While we were waiting on the platform for the
Paris Express, a train drew in with German
prisoners. We saw the officers quite distinctly,
in a lighted carriage, smoking and playing cards.
The men were in luggage-trucks. No one said
anything or made any hostile demonstrations ol
any kind — except a few of the soldier railway
porters, who scowled (so did the Germans), and
muttered " Sales Boches! " under their breath.

250 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

Paris, Sunday, 3rd October 1915.

A lovely warm day. I walked up to the avenue
Malakoff after lunch, to see Mme. de Laumont,
whose husband and son were buried yesterday
(at least the husband was) ; the boy, twenty-four,
killed in action, was buried where he fell. They
had got with difficulty a permis for the son to
come to Paris for forty-eight hours to go to his
father's funeral. When the estafette arrived with
the permission, the boy was killed. He wrote a
charming letter to his sister, just before the attack,
saying, " If this reaches you, I shall be dead. We
attack to-morrow morning. I am in the first
line," and telling her to do all she could for
his mother and father. The father was already
dead.

I didn't see Mme. de Laumont, but her mother,
who adored her grandson. Mme. de Laumont
had gone to see a friend, Mme. de P., whose
son, eighteen years old, has also been killed. Is
this cruel war going to take all our loved ones
away?

We had a good many visitors at tea-time. No
especial news ; Russians holding on well.

Paris, Tuesday, $th October 1915.

I had an interesting morning which changed
my ideas a little. They revolve in a circle — the
men at the front and the work of the ouvroir. I
seem always to be calculating how many shirts,
how many calecons, two thousand metres of
flannel will make, and how and where to get the

OLD PARIS 251

woollen stuffs. Everything has more than doubled
in price, and besides, the Government buys every-
thing for the army.

I went with Mr B., a charming American who
knows Paris well (and all the rest of the world —
has been everywhere), to see a little bit of old
Paris. The rue de l'Ancienne Comedie, the
famous Cafe Procope, where Voltaire, Mirabeau,
and dozens of other well-known writers and grands
politiques used to meet and discuss questions and
proclaim theories which inflamed the minds of the
young generation and upset the civilised world.
We went into a little back room and saw the
painted ceilings, and the Voltaire and Mirabeau
tables. We really had a delightful hour in the
past, standing under an archway where Danton,
Marat, Desmoulins, and Charlotte Corday had
passed, with hearts beating high with patriotism
and ambition, scarcely realising the power that
was in their hands.

We walked through the cour de Rohan, a
beautiful little square, very old-fashioned court
with wonderful doorways and iron gratings. One
could hardly believe one was in modern Paris with
the busy, crowded boulevard St Germain five
minutes off.

We lunched at the Palais de Justice. I was the
only woman, and it was interesting to see all the
avocats coming in with their gowns and square caps.
The cafe was lower than the street, and we walked
up the three broad worn steps that Marie
Antoinette walked up to get into the fatal tumbrel
that carried her to the scaffold. I don't know why,
but the old, worn stone steps say so much to me.

252 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

I seem to see the thousands of weary feet that
have tramped over them.

Paris, Wednesday, 6fh October.

I was at the ouvroir all the afternoon. We
didn't have as many soldiers as usual, and only a
few visitors. One lady had been to St Sulpice ;
where there is an enormous colony of refugees,
French and Belgian — all most comfortably
installed. Where there are families, they have two
rooms and can do their own cooking and washing.
The nuns look after them and beg for clothes — no
matter what kind ; they can always disinfect and
clean, mend and find good pieces in any quite worn
garments. It seems that some of the children's
frocks are a curiosity, all patchwork. They get a
great deal, as we all send them things that we can't
use. I have had one or two cases of old clothes
that I had unpacked in the courtyard, and even
then the smell was something awful.

Mme. W. arrived there just as a large party was
being sent off to the country. She said it was a
wonderful sight. They were dressed evidently in
all the second-hand garments that had been given
to them. Some of the men had top hats and dress
coats and redingotes of black broadcloth — poor
things !

We are sending troops to Salonica, which seems
rather hard with so many Germans still in France.
It is extraordinary how the Balkan states embroil
the whole of Europe.

THE BALKAN STATES 253

Paris, Friday, 8/7/ October.

We are all much delighted with the first result
of the Allies' offensive, but a little nervous over
Bulgaria. I wonder if Ferdinand really believes in
Germany's promises and the readiness with which
she disposes of other nations' property.

Paris, Sunday, lot/i October.

Our visitors to-day were rather blue over the
Bulgarian attitude. The Due de L. and Sir H. L.
very nervous, say there is no use of sending" a
small force . . . that was the mistake of the
Dardanelles ; and yet the Allies, if they mean to
follow up their dash at the German trenches, can't
weaken their front in France.

Paris, Monday, nt/i October.

I lunched with Comtesse D. at Ritz, where
there were quite a number of people. We heard of
Casteya's death — severely wounded and died in
the hospital — another of Francis' friends, one of
those who danced at the house. He leaves a young
wife and child.

The loss of young' lives is something awful, and
for what? There must come a heavy reckoning
some day to the Kaiser, but that won't give us
back all those who are gone !

After lunch we went to see the German cannon
at the Invalides. There were quantities of people,
many soldiers of all grades. To the uninitiated, one
cannon looks very like another, but they all showed

254 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

traces of battle. Some of the anti-aircraft guns,
with their muzzles pointed up in the clouds, were
curious. What interested me much more than the
cannon were the people looking at them. There
was no boasting-, no expressions of triumph, but a
quiet steady look on all the faces. One felt the
determination to go on to the end. "Nous les
aurons ! " I heard several men say.

Paris, Sunday, I'jth October.

Every one was much excited this afternoon
over the Zeppelin raid in London. Mr B. read us
a letter from a friend who was coming out of a
theatre, when one near was struck by a bomb.
They had been warned at the Savoy Hotel, half an
hour before the Zeppelin arrived, but didn't heed
the warning, didn't think it was possible. A great
deal of harm was done, quite two hundred people
killed and wounded. No details have been in the
papers.

It seems incredible that the British avions can't
get at them. A strict guard is kept over Paris.
Several Zeppelins have been announced, but so far
none have come. It is much easier for them to
get to London, as the Channel fog prevents their
being seen.

Paris, igt/i October.

I went to the atelier in the ruede Chateaubriand
this afternoon, where our Comite International de
Pansements Chirurgicaux is temporarily installed.
Mr W. was there, very busy unpacking cases, and
making big parcels to be sent off to the hospitals.

MURDER OF MISS C A YELL 255

It is entirely an American work. All the panse-
ments, blankets, old linen, etc., are sent direct
from America. They send splendid things, which
are most appreciated. All that I sent to some of
my hospitals were very acceptable.

The Paris hospitals are well supplied, but those
nearer the front — even in big" towns like Dun-
kerque and Calais — are in great need.

There is always friction between the Croix
Rouge and the autorites militaires.

I went to see the Comte de B. afterward, who
has come up ill from the country. He was so
depressed, saw everything so dark, that I was
quite unhappy. Not only the actual moment
with this awful fighting going on, but the apres
la guerre France with no men left, no money, and
no credit. Of course he criticised the Govern-
ment, and still more the diplomatists. (He is an
Ambassador's son.) They ought to have fore-
seen what was going to happen, and made suit-
able provision — as if any one could foresee what
that mad Kaiser was going to do.

Paris, Friday^ 22/id October.

The Mygatts leave this morning for America,
via Bordeaux. They are not at all nervous. I
must say I should be, and would certainly not
take a French or English steamer if I was obliged
to go to America. I hope they will send a wireless
as soon as they are out of the danger zone.

Several people came in to tea at the ouvroir —
all much excited over the murder of Miss Cavell,
the English nurse. I wonder how even the

256 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

Germans dared to cover themselves with such
obloquy. The details are too awful. She behaved
magnificently ; knew all the time she was helping
the men away that she was risking her life.

The Balkan news is bad. It doesn't look as if
the Allies could arrive in time to save Servia. It
is awful to think of our young men giving their
blood and their lives for those savages. I am
afraid our diplomacy has not been very brilliant
in the Balkan negotiations. " Some one has
blundered."

Paris, Sunday, 24/// October.

Things don't look cheerful in the Balkans.
Greece declines Britain's offer of Cyprus. I
suppose she couldn't accept such a palpable bribe.

We had a nice letter from Francis, the first
for several days. He was in the thick of the last
offensive in Champagne ; says the noise of the
cannon andi the quick-firing guns was awful. He
had to piloter des convois de munitions in his
brigade (show the way to munition-lorries), and
was thanked by his colonel for his coolness and
promptitude.

Their regiment lost a great many men, and a
great many hors de combat from the asphyxiating
gases.

He writes at night, says : " I am writing at the
window. It is a beautiful moonlight night. The
noise of the cannon has ceased for the present.
We don't hear a sound except the rumble of the
motor-ambulances bringing in the wounded ; except
for that and a few columns of smoke and sparks
going up over Rheims, at which the enemy are

SURGICAL DRESSING COMMITTEE 257

still throwing" incendiary bombs, we should never
dream a war was going on."

I suppose one gets accustomed to everything,
and in a way we lead a normal life — eat, drink,
and go out to see our friends. But at night, when
the streets are perfectly dark, not a creature pass-
ing, no sound of life anywhere, a great sadness and
terror of the future comes upon us.

Paris, Tuesday, 26/// October 1915.

To-day we have had a thick yellow fog. Shops
and trams lighted, quite like London, except for
the blacks. I walked over to the temporary in-
stallation of a new "Surgical Dressing Com-
mittee" in a rather dark, cold studio in the rue
Chateaubriand. I found three or four of the ladies,
Princesse R., Comtesse S., Mrs. P., working very
hard, the rooms filled with cases, some of them
not unpacked. The ladies were sitting on boxes
and working at tables (a plank put across boxes)
and looked very businesslike and very cold in their
white infirmiere blouses. There is a small stove,
but it doesn't heat enough ; the place is really not
comfortable, and not nearly large enough for all
the boxes that are arriving all the time from
America.

Mr W., our secretary, tells us many cases have
arrived at Bordeaux. How long they will stay
there I don't know. It seems that several con-
signments of cases and packages have crossed the
Atlantic once or twice. Of course they are very
short of hands at Bordeaux, and the unloading is
a very long affair. When the vessel has to start

258 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

back and not all the cases have been unloaded,
they remain on board, go back to America, and
hope for better luck next time.

The Clearing- House does very good work ; and
the Government takes a great deal of trouble to
see that the parcels are properly distributed.

I went late to tea with Mrs P. to meet Mr
Powell, the war correspondent. I think his book,
Fighting in Flanders, the best of the quantity of
war books that have been written. It is so natural
and tells all his adventures so simply and frankly.
He has been everywhere and seen everything since
the beginning of the war. It was most interesting
to listen to him. Of course his point of view was
absolutely American, but I think his sympathies
are quite with us. He says the French are fine
fighters. He was all through the last Balkan War,
and didn't think another one would have come so
soon, though he felt the smallest spark would start
mischief there.

Paris, Sunday, $ist October 19 15.

We had a good many people at tea-time, all
talking of two things : the new Ministry and King
George's accident. I imagine Gallieni is a very
good appointment. It must be better to have
un homme du metier at the War Office. Still I
fancy Millerand will be regretted in the army.
The soldiers liked him very much. I should think,
too, the continuation of Jules Cambon and Briand
at the Foreign Office was excellent. Cambon is
very clever, not easily humbugged, not even by
the Kaiser, who made a great fuss over him when
he was Ambassador in Berlin.

KING GEORGES ACCIDENT 259

Sir H. L. came in late; said the King was
doing well, no bones broken ; but it was a narrow
escape. His horse slipped and rolled on him,
bruising him terribly. For one awful moment the
officers thought he was dead. It is too unfortu-
nate, as his visit to the front has been such a
success. The soldiers were delighted with him.
He was so simple and kind. Several people told
me he reminded them so much of his father — so
interested in everything. Certainly King Edward
had an extraordinary gift of sympathy, and knew
exactly what to say to people and how to say it.
I wonder what he in his wisdom would have
thought of this war. He understood his nephew
perfectly. I don't think any insanity on the part
of the "War- Lord" would have surprised him;
but for a whole nation to go suddenly mad and
fancy themselves chosen by God to chastise the
civilised world would have astonished him.

Paris, Tuesday, 2nd November 1915.

These have been melancholy days, though
there were quite a number of people in the streets
carrying bunches of flowers, and the churches
were crowded. A good many men, a good many
soldiers. I got a chair for one poor one-legged
young fellow. He was so glad to get it ; said he
wasn't accustomed yet to walking with crutches,
was SO afraid of slipping on the wet crossings.
We are getting quite used to seeing the mutilcs
at work again. All the big shops have taken
back their employes who have been wounded but
arc still able to work.

260 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

At the Trois-Quartiers there is such a good-
looking young man at the ascenseur (lift). He
has lost his right arm, and limps a little, but he
looks very smiling ; has two crosses, the croix de
guerre and the Legion d'Honneur. Every one
knows him, and I fancy he has to tell his battles
over again many times.

The papers are full of the new Ministry. I
think Gallieni's appointment gives great satis-
faction.

The Servians are making a gallant fight, but I
am afraid the poor little country is doomed.

Chateau-Ambulance d'Annel
(8 kilometres from the front),
Sat i/ relay, 6th November 1915.

We got down here last night. I decided quite
suddenly late Thursday evening to come. Mrs
Depew had breakfasted and would bring me down
in her motor if she could get me a sauf-conduit.
She couldn't, but I asked the U.S. Ambassador,
Mr Sharp, where I was lunching Friday, if he
could do anything for me. He couldn't give me
an official passport as I am not an American
subject, but gave a letter with the Embassy seal.
Mme. D. was rather doubtful if I could get
through, but I thought I would risk it, and I
had, too, my pieces d'identite.

We started at 4 o'clock, Mrs D. and I and her
English chauffeur, the motor filled with packages
of all kinds, from hospital dressings to a "quetch"
pie, which we stopped for at Henri's, and which
was very difficult to transport. It slipped off

ANNE1. 261

the seat once or twice. However, it arrived
safe.

It was a beautiful evening", still and bright, the
road as usual, deserted except for military autos
and ambulances. It was quite dark before we
arrived at P., our first halt, and we were getting
a little nervous. Suddenly we saw a bright light ;
a blue-coated soldier sprang up before us, his
musket held up horizontally, barring the way.
The chauffeur showed his pass, also Mrs D. The
man asked no questions and we passed. It was
a relief, as it would have been a bore to have been
obliged to stay the night in a little village. I don't
know if the Ambassador's letter would have
helped me ; but as no questions were asked,
I didn't show any papers.

We passed the other sentry in the same way,
and were quite pleased when we turned into the
great courtyard of Annel.

We passed through one village where Spahis
are quartered. It looked weird to see the tall
figures in their white turbans and long scarlet
cloaks, emerge from the shadows and disappear
again in the darkness as the auto dashed past.

We were quite a large party at dinner: Mrs
D., her daughter, the daughter's governess, and
the medical staff, very cosmopolitan. The head
surgeon was English, the second American,
and a French medecin en chef; also a young-
English chauffeur with his ambulance, and a
Frenchman who knows English well, as a sort of
surveillant.

The Englishmen don't speak much French, but
enough to get on. We had a quiet evening.

262 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

To-day it has been beautiful, the sun shining
in at all the windows, and the park lovely with the
changing autumn tints, the poplars too beautiful,
the long avenues like a wall of gold.

I walked about a little in the courtyard in the
sun. It was most animated, soldiers, motors,
orderlies coming and going. Mrs D. and I went
for a stroll in the park, heard an avion over our
heads, but didn't pay much attention, so many
pass all the time. Suddenly we heard our batteries
at O. and the villages near firing hard, and little
white puffs of smoke, like clouds in the sky. The
men came running out. It was a German avion
making for Compiegne, and passing directly over
the chateau. We stood a few minutes under an
abri (there are several in the park), but thought
we might as well go back to the house. We
didn't run, but we walked fast. One or two
bombs were dropped in a field, but didn't do any
harm.

The cannonading has been incessant all day,
the windows shaking and the house trembling
when one of the big guns roared. Before tea
we walked to the end of the park to see the
trenches and barbed-wire entanglements they are
making there. We are so close to the front here
that they are taking every possible precaution
in case the Germans should advance in this
direction. Of course one gets accustomed to every-
thing, but it is unusual to live in an atmosphere
of avions and trenches.

A SOLDIERS' CONCERT 263

Annel, Tuesday, yth November.

It has been beautiful again to-day. There was
to have been a concert this evening, but late last
night there came a telegram saying it must be
postponed : " Impossible d'avoir sauf-conduits pour
les artistes!" It was a great disappointment and
a great bore for Mrs D., as she had invited all
the officers of the neighbouring cantonnements
(who don't get much distraction down here). In
the course of the afternoon we heard laughing
and singing in the courtyard. We went out to
see what was going on. A piano which Mrs D.
had sent for, for her concert, had arrived in an
ambulance ; a big zouave was playing, and four
or five soldiers inside were singing.

As the concert was postponed Mr D. suggested
some music in the convalescent ward, which used
to be the music-room, where there is a fine organ.
She played the organ, Frances the cello, and the
men sang solos and choruses. Some of them had
very pretty voices. They finished, of course, with
the "Marseillaise." One poor fellow, an officer,
who could hardly stand on his crutches, had been
helped in and settled in an armchair, making a
great effort for the 'Marseillaise," dragged him-
self up and stood as straight as he could, while
the famous chant de guerre was being sung.

Frances was charming with the men, so simple
and gay. I can't think it is a good thing for a
girl of her age to be in such an atmosphere of
suffering and misery, but all the conditions of
life are so changed by this awful war that ordinary
rules don't exist.

s

264 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

We had several officers to dinner (among others,
the Due de Rohan) just out of the trenches, not
having had their clothes off for nine days and
nights, and all so en train and confident. Yet it
is for these men between thirty and forty that the
life is so difficult, brought up in every comfort
and luxury, thrown suddenly into such a rough,
dangerous life. Many of the best names in France
are serving as privates in line regiments. It is
different for the peasants, the young ones
especially, who don't know what war means, and
go off full of illusions.

I am thinking of a little shepherd, eighteen
years old, who went off from my village — a child
who knew nothing of life but fields and animals
and sun and air, and who slept every night on
a heap of straw in a warm grange alongside of his
beasts. He was so proud to handle a gun and
be a soldier. His regiment was in Flanders, he
was rushed at once to the front, was struck by
a shell fragment the very first days, died in agony,
poor child, and begging for his mother ; and there
are hundreds in the same case. The nurses tell
me there are so many of the young ones who call
for their mothers. One poor boy, half out of his
head with pain and fever, called always for
"Maman." She said to him, putting her hand
on his head : " Mais oui, mon petit, maman est
la!" and the boy was quite satisfied and went off
to sleep.

Paris, Wednesday, xoth November.

It is a beautiful morning. Many of the con-
valescent soldiers are walking about in the park

COMPIEGNE 265

with canes and crutches and bandaged arms and
legs. Every day I stop and speak to such a sad
little couple — father and sister of a poor young
fellow who is dying — wounded in the spine,
paralysed. The old man is a type, small with
red cheeks, many wrinkles, and white whiskers.
He is dressed in stiff, black broadcloth ; the clothes
hang loosely on him. I should think he had
borrowed them to come. The sister looks a little
more modern. It seems that the boy wanted to
be a Capucin monk. The doctor says there is no
chance for him. They know it quite well, and
are waiting here for the end.

After breakfast, Mrs D. and I went in to
Compiegne in the auto. It looked melancholy
enough. Half the shops shut ; nobody in the
streets. Usually at this season Compiegne is full
of people, hunting and shooting, and the famous
patissier jammed. I would hardly have believed
it was Compiegne.

We went to see the house knocked to bits by
a bomb from a German avion, which also killed
three nurses.

We had some IJ rench officers to tea; the Due
de Rohan, Noailles, and one other. They were
interesting enough. Rohan was at the battle of
the Marne, gave a most graphic account of it ;
said their orders were categoric : " Mourir sur
place, resister jusqu'a la fin." He never thought
he would get out alive, nor that Paris could be
saved.

266 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

Paris, Thursday, nth November.

We came in this morning. A lovely day. The
woods looked beautiful, but the country is dead ;
nobody in the fields or in the woods. They are
making trenches everywhere. I don't know why.
Perhaps they think the Germans may still make a
last desperate dash on Paris.

Paris, Monday, 15/// November,

I have taken up my regular Paris work again.
We have had such miserable-looking soldiers these
days at the ouvroir — men just out of the hospital
and going back to the front. Some didn't look fit
to go back, but they were all quite ready to begin
again.

Paris, Friday, igf/i November.

It was lovely yesterday. Charlotte, Willy, and
I walked about a little and went to Emile Paul to
have some books sent to Francis. He writes he
hardly has time to finish them. The Colonel and
all his comrades clamour for them.

We had a nice musical evening last night,
almost the old times. The Wolffs and Mr B.
dined and we played all the evening. I was
delighted to accompany Wolff again, though I was
rather nervous as I never touch the piano now
except to make the boys sing the "Chant du
depart" and the "Marseillaise." Wolff played
divinely. It was a real pleasure, almost made me
forget the war and the haunting terror always in
my heart of what may come to us.

AN ENGLISH NURSE 267

Paris, Saturday, 20th November.

We had a meeting" of our committee of bandages
and hospital dressing's this afternoon at Mrs W.'s,
an American lady who kindly put her apartment
at our disposal. An interesting English nurse was
there, who was very practical in her suggestions.
She said what we all realise, that the American
dressings were not all such as are used here.
Evidently not only each country has its own special
dressings and habits, but each surgeon as well.

However, the things from America are excellent,
arrive in perfect condition, and as everything is
given, it is a fine thing to offer to the French
hospitals. Some of the poor ones in the country
need everything, and even some of the military
hospitals — they have just the strict n^cessaire —
are grateful for anything.

Paris, Monday, 22ml November 1 91 5.

Poor Admiral Boggs died this morning. He
was a fine type of a sailor and a gentleman. I
went to the house before breakfast — just saw
.Anna a moment. She looks badly. It has been
a long strain for her.

After breakfast I went with Fanny de M. to
a meeting of the French-American Committee for
the Belgian Croix Rouge. There were quite a
number of ladies. Comtesse Greffuhle presided.
Mrs Sharp, American Ambassadress, was there.
They decided to have a gala matinee at the Grand
Opera, the first time it has been opened since the
war. A Belgian deputy made a short speech,

268 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

very grateful for everything- that was being- done
for Belgium, but so sad. He spoke with much
emotion. It is awful to think that there are
children whom no one knows about, not even what
their names are ; a lot of them were picked out of
cellars in the Belgian towns and villages that were
burned and destroyed — huddled together like little
animals.

Paris, Friday, 26th November 19 15.

I went to the Credit Lyonnais this morning,
but couldn't cash my small cheque. There were
long lines of people subscribing to the Government
bonds. The employes, mostly women, some mere
girls, perfectly bewildered with all they had to do.
The cashier told me they would not close as usual
at 4 o'clock, would go on all the evening. There
were all sorts and kinds — poor, bent old women
buying one bond, soldiers of all grades — one young
sergeant, good-looking, evidently a gentleman,
making a big investment, and three or four very
dressy young ladies, that is to say, dressy for war
time ; very short skirts, leather gaiters, short coats
like the soldiers, with big pockets, and all carrying
a fairly big leather bag.

We all carry bags with papiers d'identite, permis
de sejour, Croix Rouge medals, etc. At any
moment one is liable to be stopped by a policeman
and asked for papers — particularly all English-
speaking people, as the very zealous French official
can't always see the difference between English
and German spoken fast.

SUFFERINGS OF SERVIANS 269

Paris, Monday, 29/// November.

An awful day- — cold, rain. Charlotte and I
went to tea with M. H., a bachelor friend and
country neighbour. There were only twelve to
fourteen people, and lovely music. It was a rea
pleasure to be distracted for an hour from all the
anxieties and misery of these awful days.

There was a man there just back from Servia
who told us horrors of the miserable peasants flying
in cold and snow from the terrors of the Bulgarian
invasion — women carrying- babies, one on each
arm, smaller children tugging at their skirts and
dropping off to fall down and die on the roadside,
in the snow. We were haunted all night by the
awful pictures he gave us.

We are all working hard here for the Servians,
but the little we can do seems nothing when a
whole people has to be cared for. I ask myself
sometimes why such suffering is allowed. We are
taught always to believe in a God of mercy, who
does not willingly afflict nor grieve the children of
men ! Surely if the whole world has sinned
grievously, it is expiating now.

Abbe D., my Catholic cure and friend, says we
musn't question the decrees of Providence — but
we can't help thinking. . . .

The news from Francis is good. He hopes we
are thinking of Christmas and plum puddings for
himself and his men. He also wants warm waist-
coats— as many as we can send ; says the men
from the pays envahis are in desperate need, as
of course their families can send them nothing.

270 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

Paris, Wednesday, ist December 1915.

It has rained hard all day. Bessie and I went
to a meeting- of the Belgian- American Committee.
Mr Allen is going- back soon to America, and
thinks it might be a good thing to take over
some films, and start some Allied cinematographs
over there, and counteract the wonderful propa-
ganda the Germans are making with theirs. It
seems they have splendid ones ; all sorts of pictures,
showing the Kaiser in full uniform, the "War-
Lord " speeding his generals on their way ; taking
patriotic leave of his children and grandchildren.
Certainly we could send some terrible records of
havoc and murder, whole villages destroyed, both
in Belgium and France, and bands of unhappy
refugees tramping along the deserted roads, trying
to carry some of their household goods, but obliged
to throw them away as the heavy march went on.
All of them needn't be tragic.

I often think of the description of the Queen of
the Belgians going to parliament the day of the
mobilisation — very pale, very quiet, her sons on
each side of her. When she appeared in the royal
box, there was a dead silence for a moment (she
is a Bavarian princess), and she grew visibly
agitated, her hands trembling. Suddenly there
were bursts of cheers, all the deputies standing,
waving hats and handkerchiefs, shouting: "Vive
la Reine ! " It would make a pretty picture.

HOSPITAL AT DRANCY 271

Paris, Thursday, 2nd December.

harlotte, Frank, and I went out to a military
hospital at Drancy, near Le Bourget. It rained
all the time, which was a pity, as the hospital is
established in the old chateau, which stands in a
large park. There are over 100 men, all very well
taken care of by French doctors, and the Sceurs
de St Vincent de Paul, but no luxuries nor little
refinements. The good sister who took us through
the wards, said the men were not spoiled by visits
or presents — was much pleased that we had
brought cigarettes and chocolates.

Some poor fellows were too badly hurt to care
about anything, but they tried to smile. One
followed Frank with his eyes. I said to him :
" You have children? " "I don't know, Madame,
1 had two, but I have heard nothing since the first
days of the war. We come from a village close
to the Belgian frontier. Had a little farm which
we worked, and which gave us all we needed —
but now!" And the poor fellow's voice broke.
" If I could only know they had a roof over their
heads and were not starving!" We took his
name and address, and will try to get some in-
formation, but it is very difficult.

Paris, Sunday y 5/// December 19 15.

We had a good many people at tea-time, all
discussing Kitchener's journey east. B. says he
hears the troops are coming back from Salonica.
I can't believe it ; having made the effort, I think
they ought to stay.

272 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

Paris, Monday, 6th December.

Charlotte and I went shopping- this morning-,
getting a Christmas dinner for Francis and his
comrades. They are ten at the mess ; we wanted
to send a turkey, but the man at Potin's advised
us not to. It would certainly spoil in the eight or
ten days it takes to arrive at the front ; so we did
what we could with pates de foie gras, hams, con-
serves and plum puddings. The puddings are
made in tins expressly for the soldiers, and were
as heavy as lead to pack. I hope they will get
there.

Francis, now being at some distance from
Rheims, will not have the Christmas dinner with
turkey and champagne he would have had with his
friends the Champagne people.

This afternoon we had a meeting of our
Bandage Committee, and then went to look at
rooms which some one told us the American
Radiator Company would let us have for our
ouvroirs. They are beautiful big rooms, quite
unfurnished. The company is doing very little
business, so I hope they will let us have them.
Everybody talking Salonica. Say the French and
British troops will leave.

Paris, Friday, 10th December.

I went up late to see Charlotte, who has a
soldier staying with her — a man from St Quentin
(pays occupe), who has arrived in Paris with a
permission of six days — knowing no one, no friends
nor family here. Charlotte heard of him through
his brother, a young fellow badly wounded, whom

OUR POILU 273

she had known at the B. hospital. The man, a
gunner, looked very nice. Frank seized my hand
as soon as I got into the house, and dragged me
to the lingerie, saying: " Viens, Danny, viens voir
le poilu de Maman ! "

He looked rather sad, having just seen his
twenty-two-year-old brother at the hospital badly
wounded in the arm. They hope they can save
it, not amputate ; but it will always be paralysed.
He can never use it.

Paris, \2tli December.

Charlotte, the boys, their little friend Alice
Dodge, and the poilu came to breakfast. The
poilu looked very nice ; had had a bath, been
shaved and all new underclothes, and the maids
had cleaned and mended his uniform. He was a
very good-looking young gunner, and the children
were delighted to have him. C. took the whole
party, including the wounded brother (whom they
picked up at the hospital), to the circus.

Paris, Monday, x^tli December.

I dined at the Crillon with Mr and Mrs Depew.
Mr Bacon came and sat with us. He rather
reassured me about America and the German
element. He doesn't think the Government's
policy very spirited, and does consider the situa-
tion grave, but laughed at the idea of civil war, or
the Germans giving any real trouble in America.
Says the Germans couldn't stand for a moment
against the Americans if it came to a crisis.

One or two English officers came and sat with

274 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

us. I asked them what Kitchener had come over
for. They replied, naturally, that they didn't know
— and wouldn't have told us if they did. Some
one said he looked very grave, but he always has
a stern face.

Paris, Wednesday, 15/// December.

I went to tea with the Watsons, to meet an
American nurse who has just come back from
Servia. She says the misery there is too awful
for words. The flight of the wretched women
and children in the cold and snow over the
mountains is something- not to be imagined. Old
people, and little children too big to be carried,
too small to struggle through the snow and cold,
left to die on the roadside.

She is going home to rest, but wants to come
out again in the early spring.

Dr Watson read us a charming letter from a
French cure de campagne — so large-minded, and
so convinced that the religious feeling is coming
back in France.

Paris, Thursday, 16th December 1915.

I went to tea at the Ritz, where Mrs Depew
had organised a sale of pelotes fleuries, to give a
Christmas present to the soldiers in the trenches.
They were very pretty little cushions of velvet
and satin, with a wreath of artificial flowers around
them, and a fall of lace like an old-fashioned
bouquet. They were very well arranged in the
hall at the Ritz, and I should think a great many
were sold. Mrs D. and some of her friends had
invited people to tea, and it was a very gay scene.

APPEAL TO AMERICANS 275

I hadn't seen so many pearls and velvet dresses
for a long time. The company was mostly foreign,
which explains the dressing. None of the French-
women here wear anything but black or dark
tailor suits.

Paris, Sunday, ig/A December.

We had an interesting breakfast. Mrs and
Mr Willard (no relation to each other) and
Charlotte came. Mrs Willard, who is connected
with every important and international working
o >mmittee in America, has just come over, and
is going to organise the French branch of the
"Surgical Dressing" Committee. She was amus-
ing over the trousers she had brought over for
me. In one of the cases sent us from America
were twenty dozen woollen waistcoats, but no
coats nor trousers. It seemed impossible to get
any, though my men friends were very generous.
One or two, instead of sending me flowers, sent
me several pairs of trousers. I said one day at
the ouvroir, that if I didn't get any more soon, I
should put a notice in the papers in big headlines :

"MADAME WADDINGTON WANTS
TROUSERS"

Mr Willard said if I would write him a letter
saying exactly what I wanted, he was sure he
mid '^ret me some from America.

The result was must gratifying. Some began
to come at once, and Mrs W. brought me over
one big bag full of trousers. She said she was
pursued by them. Some packages arrived on the
Steamer the day she left.

276 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

Paris, Thursday, 23rd December.

I breakfasted with the Segurs. He was* rather
blue about the war news, and we are all unhappy
about Salonica. It seems so awful to have our
soldiers sacrificed for those brigands in the Balkans.
We have no interest there, nor in Egypt either.

1 wish the French could have stayed at home
and driven the enemy from our soil, and not
risked themselves in the East.

Segur also criticised America and Wilson's
policy very severely. I couldn't say she was play-
ing a very spirited part. Of course it isn't her
fight ; but she might have protested in the name
of Humanity, and made herself a fine position
as the generous young neutral power across the
sea.

Charlotte and Mrs Dodge came for me there at

2 o'clock, and we went out in Mrs D.'s motor to
the Military Hospital at Drancy. The two ladies
had been there once or twice taking douceurs to
the wounded men, and they decided to make them
a Christmas tree. The Superieure, the Sceur
Recamier, a charming woman, was delighted when
they told her what they wanted to do. Though
it was pouring, she insisted upon going at once
into the park to choose a tree, put on her black
knitted shawl and sabots, and chose a very good
one, promised to have it put up and ready
for them to-day. The motor was so full of
packages of all kinds that it was rather difficult
for us three women to get in, but we didn't mind.
We found the tree very well installed in a corner
of the big dining-room. The good sisters were in

A CHRISTMAS TREE 277

quite a flutter of excitement. One or two con-
valescent soldiers and a soldier-priest, the Pere
Lausan, just from the front, were waiting to help
us. The pere mounted on a ladder to put the
star quite at the top of the tree. It was very high,
and as he had been badly wounded in the stomach,
the Sceur Recamier was most unwilling he should
go up ; but he assured her his legs and arms were
solid, and two tall soldiers held the ladder.

The tree was quickly dressed with so many
willing hands ; but they hadn't brought enough
candles. While they were dressing the tree, I
inspected the harmonium, as Charlotte thought
I could, perhaps, accompany the soldiers if they
sang anything, or play a march when they came
in. I could do nothing with it ; no matter what
stop I pulled out, it always responded grand jeu,
and roared through the hall.

The sister who plays in the chapel came down
and managed it better, though she said it was old
and out of order. She was a charming, refined-
looking woman, seemed hardly to touch the notes,
and brought such a pretty sound out of the old
instrument. The Superieure told me she was a
beautiful musician — premier prix piano Conser-
vatoire— but that she had given up her music.
It \v;is a sacrifice she was obliged to make to the
Bon Dicu. ' Hut why, ma sceur? Surely music
is a beautiful and elevating thing!" "Yes, but
it was too much of a pleasure for her, and took
time which should be devoted to other things.
They must all make that sacrifice when they give
themselves to God. We have also a young-
violinist — premier prix Conservatoire. She, too,

278 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

never touches her violin. It was difficult for her
at first."

The pere asked Charlotte if she would like the
men to sing something' — a Noel quelconque —
which she, of course, agreed to with pleasure.

We had a quiet evening. The news seems
good. Everything quiet at Salonica.

Paris, Friday ; 24th December 1915.

I did a little Christmas shopping after we came
out of the ouvroir. I had thought I would go,
perhaps, to Potin's and get some chocolate and
little things for the boys' stockings, but there was
such a crowd even outside the shop, a long line
stretching out into the street — one or two soldiers
permissionnaires, with their babies on their
shoulders, while the mother held the bag for the
provisions — that I instantly gave up that idea,
and got my things at another place. It looked
quite like Christmas. The shops were open and
well lighted. Some of the fleuristes had a beautiful
show of flowers. People were apparently buying.
One lost for one evening the impression of the
dark, empty streets we have lived in so long.

The patronne of the confectioner's shop, which
was quite full, told me they were doing a fairly
good business — much better than last year.

I took the things up to the boys. They wanted
me to stay to dinner and go to midnight mass
with them, but that was not easy to arrange,
with no carriage, nor even a footman — so H.
and I had a quiet dinner at home.

CHRISTMAS DAY 279

Paris, Saturday ', 25/// December 19 15.

I went to the American church and was dis-
appointed not to hear " Hark the herald angels
sing-." C. and the boys stopped to say " Merry
Christmas" on their way to breakfast with their
Bonne-maman. Outrey appeared about 2 o'clock
with a taxi, and we went over to get Mme.
Sallandrouze and one boy. Charlotte and the
other one went with Mrs Dodge in her auto.
It was a cold, drizzling rain, but we didn't mind,
and it didn't take more than an hour to get
to D.

We found the hospital under arms, sisters,
nurses, and various women employed in the
lingerie and kitchen waiting in the hall. We
lighted the tree at once, the two big convalescent
soldiers helping — all the others had been kept
carefully away, so as to have a surprise.

The tree was really lovely, all white, nothing
on it but white candles and shining silver orna-
ments. The packages, one for each soldier (120),
were piled up on a table. Each package contained
a pair of woollen socks, a knife, tobacco, chocolate,
a pipe, and pencil with a long chain to go in their
pockets, which they all like, two handkerchiefs,
and a notebook, agenda, with a picture of Joffre;
oranges, cakes, and an enormous cheese were also
spread out on tables.

When the last candle was lighted the doors
were opened and the men came in, the grands
blesses first, on crutches, with canes — heads and
arms bandaged. Three or four carried by their
comrades <>n their backs, putting them down so

T

280 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

gently on the long cane chairs provided for them.
A soldier-priest (they have been wonderful in this
war) just from the front, with his vestment over
his uniform, made a short prayer, and blessed the
tree. The men sang very well the old Noel of
Adam. Then Charlotte's youngest boy, Frank,
recited very prettily the Noel of Theophile
Gauthier, and Willy, holding the flag taller than
he was, sang the verses of the " Marseillaise," the
whole assembly joining in the chorus. Willy was
a little timid at first, but the men encouraged him.

Then the distribution began. The boys had two
of their girl friends to help them — Alice Dodge and
Mrs Sherman's granddaughter. The packages
were all numbered, and it was pretty to hear the
little childish voices calling out the numbers, 15,
20, 50. Each man (that could) stood up when his
number was called and saluted, saying : " Present."
It was funny to see all the big men eating cakes
and chocolate like schoolboys.

The good sisters hovered over them all, taking
such good care of the wounded men, lest they
should slip or fall.

When all the candles were burning low, the
Pere Lausan made a short address, thanking the
ladies in the name of the men for the pleasure they
had given them — not only the material part, the
packages, but also for the thought in making the
fete for them, sick and wounded, spending their
second ''war Christmas " in a hospital. The tree
would always remain a bright spot in their hearts
and memories.

Charlotte and Mrs Dodge were very pleased ;
they had taken a great deal of trouble, and were

ON THE BOULEVARDS 281

quite repaid by the smile on the men's faces as
they all filed out. Poor fellows ! I wonder where
they will all be next Christmas?

We had a quiet family dinner with the Sallan-
drouzes and Henry Outrey. Drank the health of
all our soldiers at the front, and tried not to miss
Francis too awfully, nor to think of the other
Christmases when we were all happy, and war
never crossed our brains.

Paris, Wednesday, 29M December 1915.

I rlaned a little on the boulevards this afternoon.
The poor little boutiques were not doing a very
brilliant business ; but the boulevards looked gray.
A good many soldiers, permissionnaires, with their
families, were walking about ; some blind ones —
such a sad sight — were being led through the crowd,
and the patronnes of the boutiques tried to explain
the toys to them. A good many people gave them
flowers, violets, and Christmas roses, and that they
seemed to like. They look very sad ; but the
people who take care of them say they are cheerful.

Some one told me a pretty story the other day
— a lady who is a beautiful musician plays quite
often for the blind soldiers at one of their hospitals
— the other day she had played all sorts of things,
marches, popular songs, national airs. Almost
unconsciously she started a waltz, and in a moment
they were all dancing.

PARIS, 31s/ December 19 15.

Paris is certainly looking up a little. There
was such a crowd again at Potin's this morning

282 JULY TO DECEMBER, 1915

that it was useless to attempt getting in, and in
the afternoon some of the famous chocolate shops,
the Coupe d'Or and, I think, Marquis, put up their
shutters. They had nothing left ; were quite
unprepared for such a demand.

I dined at Mine. Sallandrouze's with Charlotte
and the boys. We have dined there for years on
New Year's Eve, and as usual, the boys helped us
through the evening, as we played games with
them. I came home early to finish the evening
with H., taking Charlotte and the boys home first.
The streets were perfectly dark. No sounds of
activity anywhere. It is just after midnight. I
hear no bells but some clocks striking the hour.
This tragic year has finished with anguish and
mourning for so many ! I don't know what 191 6
may have in store for us. Hardly dare to hope.
But if a great sorrow comes to us, we must bear it,
as so many women have in France — proud to give
their sons and husbands to the country, but always
carrying the ache in their hearts.

JANUARY TO FEBRUARY, 1916

Paris, 8/7/ January 191 6.

Another tragic year is beginning with not many
changes. Thousands of homes desolate, thousands
of young lives sacrificed. Germans still in all
our most prosperous northern provinces; still in
their trenches at Soissons near Compiegne, eighty
miles from Paris. In spite of that we lead an
almost normal life, and have got accustomed to the
horrors of war. Of course, one is busy and
absorbed. 1 really only see the people who work
with me at my different ouvroirs. I went to tea
one afternoon in my ouvroir dress at the Swedish
legation. There were not many people there.
Countess Granville, of the British Embassy, also
in her plain working dress. It seemed curious to
see lights and men-servants, and a pretty tea-table.
One has got so entirely out of any social life of any
kind. M. de Stuers, Dutch Minister, was there.
He had just seen Reinach, one of our clever
political men, arrived from Salonica, and much
pleased with all he had seen. The Allies' camp
splendid. They will never be attacked. He also
spoke most admiringly of Sarrail, the French
General in command, a dashing, independent
officer.

284 JANUARY TO FEBRUARY, 1916

Paris, 14th January.

There are all sorts of reports to-day about the
Kaiser's illness. One doesn't know exactly what
to wish. If his death would end the war sooner,
one would welcome the news. But will it ? To
us the Crown Prince seems absolutely incompetent,
but some people say he is strongly supported by
the "War Party" and "Junkers" (young noble-
men).

Paris, 20th January.

I went to the ouvroir this afternoon — found our
caissiere (cashier) rather nervous at being" late,
having just arrived. I thought she had had bad
news of her husband, who is at the front, but she
explained why she was late. She was standing at
the door of her house, with only a shawl on her
shoulders, no hat, when she saw a hearse pass,
with a small coffin, evidently a child, and a soldier
walking behind it quite alone, crying. She said
something, she didn't know what, moved her, her
feet carried her out into the street. She ran out,
slipped her arm in the soldier's, and walked along
with him. A fat old concierge next door did the
same thing, stopping and buying a few pennies'
worth of flowers from a cart as she hurried on, to
put them on the coffin. Several other people
joined them, and by the time they got to the
cemetery, there were about a dozen people walking
behind the hearse. The poor man was too dazed
at first to speak, but finally told them it was his
only child, his wife was ill, and he had twenty-four
hours' leave to come and bury the child. He gave

A CHILD'S FUNERAL 285

his name and address, would be so grateful if
some one would look after his wife. He was
going back to the front that night. Jeanne went
over the next day, found the poor woman in a
miserable little room, ill and depressed. A
neighbour looked after her. Of course the ouvroir
will see that she is properly cared for, and try and
find some work for her when she gets stronger.

Paris, 24th January.

The Duchesse de Vendome, sister of the King
of the Belgians, came to the ouvroir to-day with
the Infanta Eulalie of Spain. She was much
interested in our work. Thought the sleeping-
bags very good. They were designed by Mrs
Mygatt herself, and are much better and more
solid than those one finds in the shops. She was
very interested in all the soldiers who came for
clothes, talked to them, and shook hands with
them all. Was much amused with a little Zouave,
who looked about fifteen years old, with his open
collar and fresh young face. He had been detailed
to guard some German prisoners. Had protested,
saying he wouldn't keep them — would kill them
all. No one paid any attention to his protesta-
tions, and he was sent off with a squad of men to
look after the Germans. In the night, he and
one of his comrades got up and cut off the ears
of six of them. 'Would Madame like to see the
ears? I have some in my pocket," diving down
into his pocket and producing a brown paper
parcel. That the Duchesse hastily declined,
telling him it was wrong and unsoldierly to

286 JANUARY TO FEBRUARY, 1916

mutilate unarmed men. "Yes, I know that,
Madame ; they have all told me so, and I have
been punished ; but I shall do it again. I will
always hurt and kill a Boche when I can. Ah, if
Madame could have seen the things I have seen,"
the colour all coming into his face like an angry
child while he was talking, and keeping tight hold
of his grim parcel. I think he got a very good
package. We heard him still talking to our
women as we went back to the big room, and his
last words were : " Au revoir, Mesdames. Je ferai
mon devoir, mais je tuerai tous les Boches que je
rencontrerai." ("Good-bye, Mesdames; I will do
my duty, but I will kill all the Boches I meet.")

Francis came for a short leave last night. He
looks very well. Was too much taken up the
first twenty-four hours with the pleasure of seeing
his wife and boys again, and being in his own
house (with a bathroom), to tell us many of his
experiences at the front. However, that will come
later. I think, too, it is a trait of the Waddington
men, perhaps of all men, never to tell anything
when they are asked questions. When they feel
like it they will talk easily enough. We had a
Zeppelin alerte last night about 10 o'clock, just
as we were leaving the salon. The firemen dashed
through our street sounding the "garde a vous,"
but it didn't seem to trouble the people very much.
All lights in the street (there were only two very
dim ones) and houses went out, but the people
came out on the balconies. Marie and I did the
same, but we couldn't see anything, and no one
seemed at all excited. Our concierge and our

L'AMBULAKCE AM^RICAINE 287

humble friend, proprietor of the restaurant at the
corner of the street, told us there was no danger in
our quarter. We might g'o to bed. The restaura-
teur (proprietor) has occupied himself with us ever
since the beginning- of the war, when the first
Taube flew over Paris. Had his cellar well
arranged with rugs and lamps, and always told us
not to be afraid, he would come and take us to his
cellar, where we would be perfectly safe if there
should be any real danger from Taube or Zeppelins.
I always meant to go and see his installation,
but never seemed to find time.

Paris, $xst January.

The days go on regularly and monotonously.
I went this afternoon with Mrs Boggs to the
Ambulance Americaine. She with three or four
other ladies gives tea there every Monday. Every
day some ladies give tea, which is evidently much
appreciated, as they sometimes give three or four
hundred cups. They give tea, bread, butter,
and cakes. There are no invitations. Any one
employed at the Ambulance is welcome. It is a
curious mixed crowd. Doctors, nurses (ladies
and professionals), chauffeurs, ambulance-drivers,
orderlies — no wounded — their tea is taken up to
them. There is every variety of type from the
young, pretty American girl in a spotlessly white
dress, bright-coloured silk jersey, and a little lace
butterfly doing duty for a cap, on her head, to
the comfortable middle-aged nurse in the ordinary
Red Cross uniform, sitting down for a few minutes
to have her tea, and then going directly back
to her work. They are almost all English and

288 JANUARY TO FEBRUARY, 1916

American nurses, volunteers, though there are
some Swiss, and I saw one or two Dutch women.
The men, too, are of all classes. Yesterday Abbe
Klein was there. He is the chaplain of the
Ambulance, and a charming man, clever, cultivated,
refined, devoted to the soldiers. The doctors
come sometimes, the orderlies often in their white
jackets, and always drivers and stretcher-bearers.
We stayed there until 5 o'clock, when there were
no more people, happily, as there were no more
cakes or bread. We passed through one of the
big wards on our way out. It looked beautifully
fresh and clean, and there seemed to be plenty of
people to attend to the wounded. But, oh, the
pitiful sight of those long rows of beds, and the
pale drawn faces that one passed, the men trying
to smile or say something if one stopped a moment !
Francis and his family, all four, came to dinner
— the boys sitting on each side of their father. He
had been shopping all day, renewing all his clothes
from socks to cap. He says they wear their
uniform so constantly, night and day, that they
never have time to get anything washed or mended.
He told us many things of life in the trenches,
up to his knees in water, or carrying despatches
along bad country roads at night, with shells
bursting all around him. He says it is melan-
choly to go back to some of the villages that have
been shelled. The Germans always seem to pick
out the churches, which stand there roofless, all
windows gone, merely the four walls remaining.
A ghastly souvenir of this horrible war. Can we
ever give back to them a tenth part of the harm
they have done us ?

AN IMPROMPTU PARTY 289

Paris, ist February 1916.

It seems natural to have Francis at home,
coming" in and out, and always bringing some
friend for a meal. Last night we had a banquet.
We began with a small dinner, which grew until
I wondered how we ever could serve so many
people. It is impossible to get an extra man to
serve ; there are none left ; but the two parlour-
maids did very well, and of course the meal was
of the simplest description — menu de guerre. We
had Francis, Charlotte, and the two boys ; Comte
and Comtesse Louis de Segur, very old friends (he
was one of Francis' witnesses when he married) ;
Comte and Comtesse Bernard de Gontaut, with
their son, a lieutenant of dragoons, also home on
leave ; Marquise de Talleyrand, who gave Francis
his first rocking-horse when he was about four
days old ; and Baron de Grotestin, of the Dutch
Legation, an old friend. Segur has fifteen
nephews and great - nephews fighting ; one is
killed, two badly wounded. Francis and Guy
de Gontaut told us all sorts of things about their
trench experiences. It is astounding how men
brought up as they have been in every comfort
can stand the life — take it quite as a matter of
course. We made music, of course, winding up
with all the national airs and patriotic songs.
Poor Madame de Gontaut was reduced to tears.
She is very sad since the war — Guy, her youngest
child and only son is the apple of her eye. They
stayed very late, and the two little boys were so
tired that they went sound asleep on a sofa in the
ante-room, and we had great difficulty in rousing

290 JANUARY TO FEBRUARY, 1916

them, and getting- them into hats and coats to go
home.

Paris, February.

Francis has gone back to the front. He and
Charlotte dined at a hotel not far from the Gare
de l'Est, and I took the boys for a run in the Bois.
Poor little things, they are always upset when their
father goes off, and it is pretty to hear them promise
to be good and take care of mother when the last
good-byes are said. The partings are hard. I
wonder how many more we shall have. Now the
long days of waiting begin again. We hear so
little — are days without letters. Just now all our
hopes and prayers are centred at Verdun, where
the fighting is terrific. All the great chiefs, Joffre,
Castelnau, are there, and we have seen one or two
officers who have come back wounded. They say
the slaughter of the Germans is terrible ; they go
down in masses under the great French guns, but
come steadily on, marching over the bodies of their
comrades. Our men think they are given ether or
alcohol of some kind, which goes to their heads
and makes them crazy— they come on laughing
and singing like madmen. Our losses, too, are
very heavy, but we don't see any lists of killed or
wounded. Very few Verdun wounded have come
to Paris.

Charlotte looked rather white when she came
back from the gare. However, she is a soldier's
daughter, her whole heart is with "Fighting
France," and she wouldn't have her husband
anywhere but at the front. She said the trains
were crowded, hundreds of soldiers going back and
saying good-bye to their womankind, and that

BELGIAN REMINISCENCES 291

all the women were brave, no fear, no murmurs.
The French women have been wonderful ever
since the first awful days of mobilisation, when
suddenly in a few hours their lives were completely
changed — all their men called to arms — but after
the first shock all accepted the inevitable, and set
to work to replace the men in farms, gardens, mills,
shops, and in small trades of every kind.

Paris, Sunday, z$rd February.

I went over to lunch with Bessie Talleyrand
to-day. The Seine looked bright and dancing as
I crossed it. A few flowers are coming up in the
garden. The sun streaming through the big
windows of her salon. A young Belgian officer,
Prince de C, lunched and was most interesting,
telling us of much that happened in Belgium in
the beginning of the war. Their chateau is almost
in Germany, so close to the frontier. He joined
the army at once, but his sister remained at the
chateau with a younger brother, where she estab-
lished an ambulance with French, English, and
German wounded. She also had a few French
and English soldiers hidden in a tower at the
bottom of the garden. She and her young brother
were in the hall one afternoon when three or four
German motor-cars, filled with officers, drove up.
They all got out, came into the hall, and one of
them, a tall, good-looking man, introduced himself

the l)uke of \Y. (a royal title), said they would
like to dine, had their own food, but would like the
use of the kitchen and dining-room ; also that they
must search the house as they knew English

292 JANUARY TO FEBRUARY, 1916

soldiers were hidden there. She said there were
none in the house, trembling- at the thought of the
four or five who were in the tower. They insisted
upon searching the whole house, and left a guard
at the door of the hall, forbidding the sister and
brother to leave it. However, they found no one,
and she heard nothing more of them until late in
the afternoon a young officer appeared with a
message from the Duke, inviting her and her
brother to dine with them. This she refused
curtly, without giving any excuse, which rather
surprised and disconcerted the young officer, who
retired. In a few minutes the Duke appeared,
already in a temper. Why had she refused his
invitation to dine with them? "It is quite im-
possible," she answered, "which you will surely
understand when you think about it." He
wouldn't listen to her, insisted upon a reason —
so then she replied that it would be impossible for
her to break bread with people whom she despised,
soldiers who burned churches and villages, and
killed helpless women and children. He flew into
a rage, told her to hold her tongue, and banged
out of the hall. Her.young brother was frightened,
thought they would do something awful to her, so
a little later when one of the younger officers asked
him to dinner, he thought he had better go. The
Germans all behaved perfectly well at dinner, said
nothing about the war, talked weather, roads, and
farming prospects. He said the dinner was very
good. They drank a great deal of wine. They
left directly after dinner, with a great noise of
clanking sabres, spurs, and snorting autos. Some
days later they were warned that they were being

THE GERM \N> IN BELGIUM 293

watched, and the young man was advised to get
out of the country. He succeeded in getting
across the frontier, having all sorts of adventures.
He ended by swimming across the canal. Soon
after the sister was carried off to Brussels by the
German military authorities, who told her she was
only wanted to give evidence in the case of Miss
Cavell, that unfortunate English nurse who was
murdered ; would be brought back at once to
her chateau. She never got back, was sent to
prison in Germany, shut up in a cell, and obliged
to wear prison uniform, allowed to go out for half
an hour every day in the courtyard, and she is still
there. She writes occasionally to her brother.
Lately, thanks to one of the Cardinals, she has
obtained certain mitigations of the strict prison
discipline, can receive books — no papers — and
material for working. One of her greatest de-
privations was the want of light. All lights were
put out in the cells at 8 o'clock, and those long
hours of darkness were almost unbearable. What
a life for a refined, delicate woman! However,
those brutes didn't murder her as they did the
poor English nurse. One must be thankful for
small mercies in times like these.

Paris, 28//; February.

Our only idea is Verdun, where the French
are fighting magnificently, the Crown Prince still
hurling masses of his best troops on the French
guns.

We have letters from the cure at Mareuil
begging us for food, clothes, everything for refugees,
from some of the villages near Soissons, and ask-

294 JANUARY TO FEBRUARY, 1916

ing us to come down for a day or two. We can't
— we have no motor, and all passenger-trains are
stopped on the Chemin de Fer de l'Est, as they
are rushing troops to Verdun.

These are the last pages of my War Diary.
There is so little to say. Even the splendid
defence of Verdun doesn't mean the end of the
war, and so many books about the great war
have been written and will be written that the
simple details of a family life are hardly worth
recording.

When my grandsons come to manhood and
have sons of their own, when the world is at peace
and the cannon hushed, and women are busy and
smiling in the little hamlets where their mothers
spent long months and years of suspense and
anguish and mourning, they perhaps would like
to read "Granny's" remembrances of the Great
War.

WITH THE
BRITISH EXPEDITIONARY FORCE

Hazebrouck, October iqi6.

Sitting at my window, in a rather dark pro-
vincial hotel, looking out on a courtyard where one
tree stands up against the grey northern sky, the
wind always howling- dismally, and the tree sway-
ing in a perfect tempest — I ask myself if I am the
same person who, a few days ago, was spending
long happy hours at a lovely island just off the
coast of Vendee. I used to lie out on the warm
dry sand, my head on a heap of seaweed, seeing
nothing but the blue sky overhead, the sea at
my feet, a few pleasure-boats drifting leisurely
along. There were no fishing-boats, for the men
are mobilised, and now the women do a great
deal and replace their husbands In many ways.
I have not heard of any who have ventured
forth oil a fishing cruise, which was the great
occupation and resource of the island.

Except for the total absence of men (save very
very old ones), there is nothing to indicate that
a great war is going on. There are no soldiers,
no wounded, no hospitals. The women all knit,
trudging alongside of their donkeys ; and life in
all classes flows as easily and placidly as possible.

»6 u

296 WITH THE BRITISH

I left suddenly, called away by the illness of a
grandson, to this place in the extreme north of
France. Even now, it all seems a dream. The
long, weary journey with so many changes of
vehicles that I think a balloon would not have
seemed unnatural, the long wait at Nantes, in
the dark station (the only lights being' at the office
of the chef de gare and the ticket-office), for a
crowded train so taken by assault at once by
travellers and above all soldiers returning from
their leave, that it seemed useless even to think of
getting in. However, thanks to Mr P., whom
we met at the station, and who really pushed us
on to the platform, we did manage to find our two
places, the only unoccupied ones.

The couloir was crowded with people sitting up
all night on bags, rugs, the bare floor. We rather
remonstrated with the railway official who came
for the tickets and who looked harassed and
depressed. He said they could do nothing;
everything was in the hands of the military ; every-
thing for the army came first, men, munitions,
and that it was not a time for civilians to travel.
He was quite right. It is not! But when we
suggested that they might put on another carriage,
or at least not sell tickets, when he knew there
were no more places, he jeered at us ; said they
had no "extra carriages," and if, when the train
arrived at Nantes, it was requisitionne by the
military authorities, all the civilians would be
put out and left on the quai — at 10 o'clock at
night.

I had two hurried days in Paris trying to get a
passport and sauf-conduit for Hazebrouck (which

ON THE HO AD TO CALAIS 297

I didn't get), but they were very kind at the
Foreign Office, and gave me a laissez-passer,
which I think would have carried me through
even without the famous blue paper of the Grand
Quartier General.

Mr Cambon said he would telephone at once
to one of his friends at the Grand Quartier, to tell
the military authorities at Calais to let me pass.
It was a long journey ; takes five hours in ordinary
times, but I was en route for thirteen hours ;
left Paris at 9.30 in the morning, and got to Haze-
brouck at 10.30 the same night.

The train, a very long one, was crowded with
British soldiers. After Amiens, we really went
through an enormous British camp, thousands of
tents and barraques. It was a fine day, and we saw
every variety of English life ; nurses walking about
in couples, officers playing lawn tennis, soldiers
at football. Long lines of cavalry with very good
horses. A military funeral ; men marching with
arms reversed ; endless fourgons with munitions
and food and cannon. The men generally very
fine-looking, very smart in their short jackets
(so unlike our long French tunics), which give
them an extraordinary length of limb.

They were principally young men ; I don't
think they had done much lighting yet. Their
uniforms and boots looked clean.

We got to Calais about 5, and had two hours'
wait there. The station was a curiosity — a solid
mass of khaki-dressed men coming and going,
whistling gaily, making all sorts of jokes with
every one I didn't hear " Tipperary." That
seems to have passed for the moment.

298 WITH THE BRITISH

We had to go at once to the room where all
papers were examined by the military authori-
ties, who were very stiff and curt. I was a
little uncomfortable, knowing- mine were not en
regie.

There were two trains, just one for Dunkerque
and later Hazebrouck. A nice-looking- woman,
a lady, who was going to Dunkerque, was not
allowed to pass ; her papers not right. She pro-
tested vigorously ; said the commissaire de police
had told her everything was quite en regie. But
the officer was inexorable. " We have our orders,
Madame ; we cannot let you pass ! "

The poor thing was bitterly disappointed ;
didn't know where to go in Calais for the night.
She asked me if I was going to Dunkerque. " No,
to Hazebrouck." "You will never be allowed to
pass, Madame ; " but I told her I thought I was
all right.

I gave the maid, who had her sauf-conduit, my
laissez-passer and papiers d'identite, but I didn't
feel quite happy until I heard the officer say :
" C'est tres bien ; nous avons re9u des ordres de
faire passer Mme. Waddington."

We had two hours to wait ; couldn't go out of
the gare ; but the buffet at Calais is very good,
and we had a very nice simple dinner.

When I asked for cold chicken, the man was
much taken aback, saying they hadn't had any
chickens for weeks.

There was a big table d'hote for British officers.

I started again about 7. Again a very long
crowded train, stopping at all the little stations.
None of them were lighted. People scrambled out

AT HAZEBROUCK 299

in the dark as well as they could, carrying bags
and bundles.

One poor woman with a wounded son with her,
who was going to St Omer, thought they had
arrived at their destination, and got out at one of
the small stations ; was much put out that " Jean,"
whom she called, was not there to meet her ; and
had just time before the train started to climb
in again. St Omer was two stations farther
on. The poor boy looked so weak and tired,
as if he couldn't stand much more. However,
at St Omer, Jean with a lantern and quite a
group of friends were waiting, and he seemed all
right.

We didn't move as we had been told the train
didn't go any further than Hazebrouck. It was
not quite so dark there, but it was such a long
train that we had some little distance to walk before
we were hailed by Francis (whose voice told me at
once that the boy was better, before I could ask
any questions), and one or two officers, who took
our papers and passed us at once, without making
the long wait at the bureau where the sauf-conduits
and other papers are examined.

The hotel was just opposite the station, and
we walked across. Mme. S. was waiting for me.
My room was next to hers ; we all talked together
for a few minutes. Then Francis came into my
room and we talked until midnight. The child
has been desperately ill, and the poor parents have
had a terribly anxious ten days. They say nothing
can describe the kindness of the British doctors
and nurses, of everybody, in fact. The infirmieres

300 WITH THE BRITISH

and religieuses of the Croix Rouge have been very-
good to them.

My first visit to the hospital was sad enough.
The French Croix Rouge have their salles on the
first floor of the College St Jacques, and on the
story above, up a very steep flight of steps, our
little Frank and his mother are installed in two
bare, high, comfortless rooms, with windows so
high that we had to get a chair to look out.
However, they were very glad to have even
them, as it was very difficult to find anything.
The town is crowded with British troops and
refugees.

I found the poor little boy much changed, so
thin.

He has nice English nurses, day and night, and
likes them very much with their helpful ways and
gentle voices.

Dr S., the English doctor, is perfectly devoted
to him, comes three times a day, and is so gentle
with him. His room opens into a dortoir (awful),
with its rows of beds, and stools without any backs
at the side of each bed. A long table runs down
the middle of the room.

They had cleared off one end, and there
Charlotte made her tea, and the English nurses
the little soups and jellies which the boy likes.

The first few days were bewildering. I saw so
many people. It is still a confused memory — the
doctors, the infirmieres, the abbe, directeur of the
College St Jacques, the religieuses, the infirmieres-
majors. One of them, a tall, fine-looking woman,
one of the important ladies of the place, in the

AN ENGLISH GARRISON 301

white nursing dress and coiffe and beautiful
diamonds in her ears — the day-nurse, Sister P.,
passing backward and forward in her grey dress,
the little cape bound in red. The directress of all
the British nurses (some Red Cross, some
Territorial, some Military) is Sister S. R., an
absolute femme du monde, with a charming manner
and most energetic and capable. One or two
visitors from the town who came to see Charlotte.
The visitors always remained in the dortoir, some
sitting on the stools, some on the beds. And the
wonderful femme de menage, a refugiee from
Armentieres. She looked like a savage; had no
particular features — lumps all over her face, and a
gruff voice like a man's.

We are in the firing-line, but are not bombarded.
The place is not important enough, but from
Armentieres and the neighbouring villages, which
are bombarded all the time, groups of refugees
come almost every day, and they tell us the misery
is appalling — the town overcrowded with frightened,
helpless women and children.

We left the hospital generally a little before 6 ;
and I think I shall never forget those first walks
back to the hotel. Quite dark ; the great place
just lighted enough to see how dark it was, and
always autos and big lorries dashing about.

As the days went on and I felt happier about the
child, I found much that was interesting. It was
curious to live in this quaint little northern French
town, really more Flemish than French, with its
narrow, pointed houses, red roofs, and canal
wandering through low green meadows — and yet
to feel oneself in an English garrison. The town

302 WITH THE BRITISH

is under British martial law. They control
everything-. Big soldiers with M.P. ("Military
Police") on their caps, stand in all the main streets
to direct the traffic ; and it is funny to see them
standing- absolutely calm and imperturbable when
torrents of invectives are hurled at them by
indignant natives in their country carts, in an
absolutely unintelligible jargon.

I asked one of them the other day if he had
learned any French. " Not much, but it doesn't
matter, Madame. We make them understand ;
and we don't mind their talking ; we are accus-
tomed to it."

The shops are what one would find in any
English provincial town — food (jam, of course,
of all kinds), clothes, rugs, carpets, furniture,
illustrated papers. The "Tommies" seem on
the best of terms with the townspeople. They
pay well for everything they take ; and the
doctors are very kind to the refugees, sick and
wounded.

There are a great many Anzacs (Australians
and New Zealanders) in the streets. They are
not so military-looking as the correct, well set-up
"Tommy" — but they are a fine lot of men,
generally tall, broad-shouldered and young. They
swing along at an easy pace, their big hats turned
up on one side, their jackets rather loose, high
boots, and enormous spurs. They say they are
splendid fighters. Their record is a fine one ; but
they are pretty hard to manage, with no idea of
military etiquette or "difference of rank."

One of the officers (they are generally English,
the higher ones) remonstrated with a soldier the

COLONIAL TROOPS 308

other day for not saluting" a colonel. The man
promptly replied : " He would not salute any
more colonels ; he had saluted two the other day
who had not returned it, and he was going" to salute
no more ! "

I was amused with some of them I met the
other day in a shop. I and several other people
were buying1 fruit, grapes, pears. The patronne
showed us a fine bunch of "white grapes. They
looked very good, firm and yellow where the sun
had touched them. "How much?" said one of
the men. ' Three francs fifty," replied the woman.
Upon which the man broke into a loud peal of
incredulous laughter, saying : ' You won't sell
any at that price. In my country, we get a big
basket full for one shilling," and he and his
companions went off whistling and laughing, but
declining absolutely any purchases.

Our hotel is opposite to the gare. Every day
we see troops coming and going. The other day
quite a large contingent of British and Australians
arrived. The British waited quite still — a long
khaki line just outside the station, while their
officers parleyed with the railway men. The
Australians, hardly a second ; they jumped over
the barriers, pushed aside the employes, and were
in the middle of the street and in all the cafes like
lightning. They are as agile as monkeys ; vaulted
over the fences and slipped in and out of the
quantities of motors and big carts without slacken-
ing their pace. They ran as hard as they could out
of the station.

The gare is always crowded all day and all
night, as there is a constant passage of troops.

304 WITH THE BRITISH

When they stop for three or four hours only to
rest and eat, the streets are most animated, and
the shops, patissier, tobacco, postal-cards and
picture-papers, do a roaring- business. But it is
quite different when the trains with wounded
arrive. The grey Red Cross ambulances are
drawn up close to the station, and one sees the
ghastly burdens that the big" "Tommies" bring-
out so gently.

One day the station was shut all day. No
passenger-trains (there is only one, morning- and
evening) were allowed to start. Some one told
us afterward that "tanks" were passing-. I don't
suppose we should understand much ifwedidsee
some — still one likes to have an idea of all the
new infernal war engines, and these seem terrible.

When one remembers the old days when one
spoke of a possible great continental war, every-
body said all would be over in a few months.
The new killing inventions were so awful that in
a few weeks there would be no men left on either
side. And now, in October 1916, we are getting
ready for a third winter in the trenches, making-
warm clothes and trying to keep up our courage.
But at night, when we are comfortable in bed,
and the rain and wind are beating against the
window-panes, we wonder how much more our
poor men can stand !

Hazebrouck.

To-day, it is bright and mild, the sun not too
pale, really shining, and Hazebrouck appeared
quite different. It is market-day, and the great
place is covered with stalls and vehicles ; and the

HAZEBROUCK CAFES 305

British and Anzacs are wandering about and
buying-.

It is certainly the great day here. Our patronne
asked us last night if we would please breakfast
somewhere else this morning, at one of the cafes
on the place, or perhaps with M. l'Abbe" at the
College St Jacques (Charlotte took all her meals
in the refectoire of the College as long as they
were living there, at the abbess table, on a platform
from which he could dominate the classes when
the boys were there), as she couldn't give us the
private dining-room we always had.

For years, twenty I think she said, certain
clients had always breakfasted in that room on
market-days. The poor lady was quite worried
in her mind ; but we compromised by saying that
we would breakfast early, at eleven.

We stopped at the patissiere's, a very good one,
to order some brioches for tea, and she showed
us, with much pride, a table in the inner room
covered with most appetising cakes. She said
she was always very busy on market-days, and
made a great many cakes and tarts. But that
now, since the English were here, she made twice
as many, and often had to shut her shop at 6
o'clock when she had nothing left.

She advised us to take our cakes at once, as
she knew she could not keep them : " Ces messieurs
prennent tout et ne raisonnent Pas" ("These
gentlemen take everything without discussing").

We thought her advice good, and carried off
our cakes.

As usual, the English impose their habits
wherever they are : their church services, 5-0'clock

306 WITH THE BRITISH

tea in all classes, their lawn tennis, their football,
quite simply, with an absolute disregard of the
customs of the country.

I suppose there are no two nations so unlike
as the French and the British ; but I think this
war will bring about a better understanding
between the two countries, each one recognising
the other's qualities, the splendid fighting and en-
durance on both sides. But they fight differently,
as they do everything else.

We have finally found charming rooms for
Charlotte and her boy. She couldn't remain any
longer in her garret at St Jacques, as the holidays
were over and the boys are coming back to school
(poor little wretches, to sleep in that awful dortoir).
We all, including Mme. de L., who came in from
her place two or three times to see C. before
she went off to Paris, saw all the houses and
lodgings that were left in the town, but nothing
was at all tempting. One clean little bourgeois
house down by the canal, well exposed (when
there was any sun, it would come there), we
had almost decided upon, but Dr S. objected so
vigorously that we didn't like to go against his
opinion.

There are some very nice houses with a long,
low facade on the street, and very big gardens
running off at a great distance behind ; but, of
course, they were all occupied by British officers.
However, Dr S. had one in his head, where
Major L., the British "Town Major," lives.
Francis and Charlotte went to see it, and were
delighted. A good large house, with a lovely

■LA PETITE NICE" 307

garden, but they didn't think they would be able
to get it. Finally, after many negotiations, the
thing was arranged. C. saw the Town Major and
the proprietaire, a nice woman — and she has four
good rooms. Major L. most kindly gave up his
office, a large high room opening on the veranda
and the garden ; said his things should be taken
away at once.

There is a sort of a serre, or winter garden all
closed in with glass on one side of the bureau,
and two good bedrooms upstairs.

The English officers, staff, interpreter, etc-,
occupy the rest of the house. It is very well
situated in an open part of the town ; and to-day,
as I am sitting writing in C.'s salon, one couldn't
want anything prettier. The garden is full of
flowers, all in bloom, roses, begonias, geraniums,
with a very good stretch of lawn and a tennis-
court. It is really a very sheltered spot. They
call it in the town " La petite Nice."

It was a little difficult at first making the winter
garden comfortable, but people lent some tables
and screens, the major a chaise longue and we
added small tables and chairs ; and with some
Turkey red table-covers, photographs, and a
writing- table it really looks quite nice.

C. has made friends with the gardener, who
keeps her well supplied with flowers and a few
vegetables.

It is interesting to live, so to speak, with the
army. All day, soldiers and civilians pour into
the courtyard and veranda. The English offices
are quite at the other end of the veranda, and
the men and visitors don't get near our end.

308 WITH THE BRITISH

We only see tall soldiers moving" about and don't
hear anything-. One can hardly believe one is in
a house full of men. C. feels very well guarded.
The gas burns all night in the corridor, and there
are always people about. Francis, who is twenty
miles away, nearer the front, comes about once a
week for twenty-four hours, sometimes on horse-
back, sometimes on a bicycle. But he is very
busy : all sorts of local questions come up all the
time, and of course his Anzacs don't speak one
word of French. There is a stable in the court-
yard where he puts his horse.

The first time he came without letting us know,
so, naturally, nothing was ready. However, some
of the English orderlies brought straw and water,
and C.'s beautiful femme de menage went out for
oats and hay.

He always dines at the British mess, as the
cooking arrangements in the villa are of the most
elementary character.

One end of the winter garden (it is a very long
room) is cut off with a high wooden screen, and
behind that C. has a gas-stove (which the pro-
prietress of the villa left here when she went away)
and a big petroleum-lamp, two long tables, and a
variety of kettles and saucepans.

Her woman and Sister D. make all the little
jellies, and cook an occasional chop which the
boy wants.

She has also made great friends with the
bouchere across the street, who told her one day
she would make her dinner and send it over to
her. She had been a cook herself, knew all about
it. Would Madame come and see her kitchen ?

ENGLISH NURSES 309

C. said it was beautifully clean, so she accepted,
and the woman sends her over very good soup,
chops, filet, anything she wants.

Francis dined one night (for a wonder didn't
ask any one) and said he hadn't had such a good
dinner since the war.

There is a large old-fashioned Flemish kitchen
opening into the courtyard, as they all do here,
with a fireplace big enough to roast an ox. But
the English have it. Enfin, a la guerre comme a
la guerre! They are camping and not at all badly
off. The boy is very happy in his big room. His
bed is drawn up to the open window, and he loves
to see the flowers and the gardener at work.
When it gets too dark to see anything, he knows
all the steps : the doctor who is very good to
him, his father's horse in the courtyard, and above
all the quick light step of Sister D., his English
nurse.

I can't say enough about the English nurses,
particularly the military nurses. In fact, the
whole English equipment is wonderful ; all the
details so well carried out. What they have done
since the beginning of the war is admirable,
when one thinks that they had practically no
army, and that everything had to be organised!

Francis had great difficulty in getting a nurse.
He telegraphed to Lord Bertie, the British Am-
bassador, and to various people in Paris, but the
formalities were endless. It seems the British
are very strict about having their lines entered.
Finally one of the high officers here telegraphed
for a military nurse from London. She was told
one afternoon she must leave the next morning

310 WITH THE BRITISH

for France to nurse a serious case at Hazebrouck.
She crossed to Boulogne in a troop-ship, stood all
the way over — they were packed like sardines-
found an ambulance waiting for her at Boulogne,
and came straight off to Hazebrouck — three hours'
run. Francis was standing at the door of the
hospital ; saw the nurse arrive ; couldn't believe
it was his nurse — as she had only been telegraphed
for the day before, but went to see if he could help
her as she seemed to have some difficulty in
making herself understood in French.

She told him she was Sister D., had left London
that morning, and was told to come to Hazebrouck
to nurse a serious case in Mr Waddington's family.
" I'm Mr Waddington," he said; "and you are
to nurse my boy." He took her directly upstairs
— said in half an hour she was installed — didn't
mind apparently the very primitive, uncomfortable
surroundings, hardly wanted a cup of tea.

They are mobilised like soldiers. She came
with her rations and her kit-bed ; had no idea if
she was coming to a camp or a tent or a hospital.

She hadn't been half an hour in the room when
a soldier appeared, bringing her her billet de loge-
ment for the next day. She is a night-nurse. She
got all her instructions from the doctor, arranged
herself on the table in the dortoir all she might
need for the night, made friends with the child ;
and his poor mother went to bed with a feeling
of comfort and security she hadn't known for
days.

The day-nurse too (she is a Territorial, not Red
Cross) is most competent, and they are both so
cheerful. They have all passed an examination

SISTER S. R. 311

for simple cooking, and can make the soups and
jellies that an invalid wants.

I wish we had such an organisation in our
military hospitals ; but those schools of trained
nurses don't exist in France. Of late years it has
been rather the fashion for the femmes du monde
to pass examinations for the Croix Rouge, and I
believe there are some excellent nurses ; but they
are not numerous and all voluntary. The French-
woman ought to be a good nurse. She occupies
herself so much with her household and her
children, going into every detail.

It was pouring the other day. I believe it
always rains in these northern towns. The big
place was like a lake. I tried in vain to get a
pair of india-rubbers but couldn't, and was very
uncomfortable in my wet shoes.

Sister S. R., the head of the British nurses,
came to see us — wonderfully equipped. She had
on a long black mackintosh (tarpaulin, like what
the sailors wear), with big pockets and a hood,
and high rubber boots. She left her mackintosh
outside, and came in in her white clothes, looking
as clean and dry as if it were a sunshiny June day.
She told us she had done all the campaign of the
Yser in a field-hospital, at the front, and that she
never could have done it without the rubber coat
and particularly the boots. The soft black mud
was something awful ; they really went in up to
their knees. They lived in tents, and had to go
backward and forward to the hospital and the
sanitary trains.

She said she never could have imagined any-
thing so awful as the wounded men who were

x

312 WITH THE BRITISH

brought in. Bundles of mud, their clothes stiff
with blood and dirt of all descriptions. Those
who had been only lying out one night in the
battle-field, in good condition compared to those
who had remained sometimes forty-eight hours.

She was most interesting, and I couldn't help
thinking as she sat there on a bed, or a stool, in
the dortoir, with her fine profile and "grand air,"
that, after all, blood tells, and that the gently-
born lady accommodates herself better than the
ordinary woman to all the discomforts and dangers
that a field-nurse is exposed to. Of course there
must be the vocation, or else the strong faith that
one's life is not one's own at such a time, but
in God's hands, to be sacrificed when the time
comes.

I am thinking of a nurse we were all so fond of,
who left Paris to go and take charge of a hospital
at Mosch, where shells were falling freely. She
had a young religieuse with her who was nervous,
frightened of the shells, couldn't make up her mind
to leave the shelter of the house and venture out
into the open. Our good sister encouraged her,
and one afternoon they left the house together.
Our sister was struck instantly, killed at once by a
passing shell. They gave her a soldier's funeral,
with the flag covering the coffin. Her memory
lives in many hearts.

We never go out at night. No civilians are
allowed in the streets after 9.30 o'clock. I stopped
at the patissiere's one morning to order some cakes
for tea, and found there three young Tommies
trying to get something to drink. They couldn't
understand the woman, and the woman couldn't

« TOMMIES'' 313

understand them. But she divined that they were
hungry, and gave them each a small brioche which
they didn't want. I came to the rescue, asking
what they wanted : " Something to drink,
Madame ; we have been travelling since 12 o'clock
yesterday, and have had nothing to eat or drink."
11 What do you want ? Beer, whisky ? " " Oh, no,
Madame, tea; but we can't get it." I asked the
woman if she couldn't give them some tea and
bread and butter, but she hadn't any tea, only
chocolate and cakes, and was, besides, expecting
British officers to breakfast ; had an elaborate
table spread with cakes and jam.

They looked so disappointed that I thought I
would carry them off to the cafe of our hotel, where
they would surely get something ; so I told them
to come with me, and we all walked off together.
" I think you must be an English lady, Madame,
as you are wearing the English Red Cross medal."
"No, I am not English, but I love the soldiers,
and all my men are fighting."

We walked on very amicably : one or two
passers-by looked rather amused at the party, and
they tried to tell me where they had come from,
but their British pronunciation of French names
made it impossible for me to understand.

When we got to the cafe I told the patronne to
grive them a good breakfast, saying to them : " But
don't you want more than bread and butter?
Would you like some ham and eggs?" "Oh, yes,
Mum," with a broad smile on each young face.
They thanked me very nicely and respectfully,
and I left them in Mme. M.'s hands.

Francis says his life is not always very inter-

314 WITH THE BRITISH

esting, but it is a change from the trenches and
carrying despatches, and I think it is just as well
to see every side of the war.

He is astounded at the British equipment ;
such wonderful organisation, and such abundance
of everything. They had had a "church parade"
on Sunday, which he said was most impressive,
in a half-ruined church — almost the whole roof off,
windows gone, floor too, in places. The padre (as
they call all the priests and clergymen) brought a
small harmonium with him, which Francis played.
They gave him a book, as of course he doesn't
know the English hymns ; and he said the men
sang very well. They finished with "God Save
the King." He was in a deadly terror lest he and
the harmonium should topple over, the floor was
so rickety ; but they got through all right.

The townspeople are very civil and most service-
able, but they are a little bewildered by the British
occupation and all the things the English want
which the French soldier knows nothing of.

Everybody knows us, as we are the only
strangers in the place.

I had a visit the other day from Mile, de B.,
the type of the good old French bourgeoise, with
a very polite, old-fashioned manner. She has a
charming house in the rue de l'Eglise, one of the
best streets in the town, with a beautiful garden at
the back, and pretty, heavy, old-fashioned furniture
in her rooms. Almost all her house is taken by
British officers. She is Presidente de la Croix
Rouge for this part of the country, and also of
the Belgian Relief Committee. She had seen my
name on one of the Franco-American Belgian

REFUGEE MISERY 315

committees, and came to see if I could put her
in touch with the Paris committee. They have
quantities of refugees here, and among" them
civilian wounded, women and children.

I thought I had seen every stage of refugee
misery at Mareuil, with those first miserable bands
that passed through our villages the first year
of the war, but there were no wounded. I saw
a group of refugees, women and children from
Armentieres, the other day — six women, young,
strong, not over thirty, and a little girl of eight —
each with a leg off, hit by a fragment of shell.
They had no crutches, not even canes, merely
sticks, like what the boys cut in the woods, with
a notch at one end to prevent them from slipping !
They looked utterly miserable, huddled together
in a corner of the Place. It made one ill to see
them. Happily it was not cold, nor raining.

I said to one of the women: "Why did you
stay ? You were warned to leave, as any day
Armentieres would be bombarded." " But,
Madame, where can we go? It is our home, our
only home; no one wants us here or anywhere.
We have no clothes, no food, no shelter!" It
is perfectly true. They don't want them in the
towns. They have already more than they can
take care of.

Another woman said : " I don't complain,
Madame, I have only lost a leg. I am a washer-
woman and can still stand at my tub and use my
arms. There are others worse off than me — but
I would like a pair of crutches."

Mile. D. says the town is doing all it can, but
they must have some help.

316 WITH THE BRITISH

Happily the British occupation is pouring
money into Hazebrouck. The soldiers of all
ranks don't deprive themselves of anything-, and
pay well for all they want. One of the girls at
the Bazaar in the Place, a sort of general shop
where you can get anything, from tennis-rackets
to fine Flemish lace, told us she had learned
English quite well, so as to be able to understand
what the soldiers wanted. Said she liked the
Australians very much — "de beaux gars." They
all had money, all wanted to spend it, and buy
presents for their girls at home.

We assisted at one of the purchases, which
was most amusing. A very good-looking young
Australian was buying a handkerchief edged with
lace. He was very particular about the lace, that
it should be good, pas imitation, and wanted it
put in a white box tied with a ribbon. He paid
for it, and carried it off under his arm. The girl
told us they had sold dozens of fine handkerchiefs
and cravates trimmed with lace.

These warriors from over the sea are evidently
most amiably disposed toward all the jeunesse
feminine. When I came into the hotel one after-
noon, five or six soldiers — Tommies and Anzacs —
were sitting on benches outside the cafe. Quite
a pretty girl came along, carrying rather a heavy
basket. The soldiers all smiled up at her, crowded
nearer together on the bench making a place for
her to sit down, saying, " Bon jour, Mamzelle,
asseoir!" But the girl laughed and nodded and
passed on. I had the impression though that she
had sometimes accepted invitations to asseoir.

They are a cheerful lot, always whistling and

ANOTHER WAR EASTER 317

singing-, and so pleased to talk to any one who
will talk to them. I fancy they are like the
American cowboys — perhaps not quite so rough
in their language. They are generally tall, fair,
clean-shaven, with nice blue eyes. They are all
volunteers as there is no compulsory service yet in
Australia, though I suppose it will come, as I
think it will come in all countries after this dreadful
war. There are all sorts and conditions of men,
just as there are in our Territorials. One of
Francis' colonels is a leading lawyer in Melbourne.

We talked one day to some of the men who
had been fighting on the Somme. They said it
was awful. They don't like the trenches and the
long-distance guns where the man fires mechani-
cally at something he doesn't see. The shells,
at least, they can see and protect themselves
sometimes !

They don't like the Germans and their way of
fighting. An angry look comes into their boyish
blue eyes when they tell you of some of the
German atrocities.

Hazebrouck,
Easter Sunday, April 191 7.

Another War Easter, "will it be the last?"
in such different scenes and so unlike any I have
ever spent before. I have seen splendid Easters
in Rome, at St Peter's, with all the pomp and
ceremonies of the Roman Catholic Church ;
beautiful solemn ones at Westminster Abbey
in London — joyous too — the hallelujahs of the
Easter hymn ringing out in the fresh young
voices of the boys' choir and echoing far down

318 WITH THE BRITISH

in remote corners, bringing the Easter message
to all that vast assemblage of the mighty ones
of the world — King's soldiers, statesmen, now
peacefully taking their rest ; quiet simple Easters
in our country church at Mareuil, the altar
covered with all the white flowers that could be
found in our garden, all the school children with
new hats and coats, ''terrible hats, with flowers
and features," singing lustily the Cantique de
Paques. The men of the village who only come
to church three times a year — at Easter, the Jour
des Morts, and the Midnight Mass on Christmas
Eve — carefully dressed in black broadcloth and
top-hats, and the good cure making a short simple
sermon, which all could understand. These were
happy, careless Easters, no fears or visions of
the dark war-clouds hanging over us. One War
Easter at the Chateau d'Anuel close to the front,
transformed into an ambulance by my friend,
Mrs P. A short service in the convalescent ward.
Many of the men were in bed, those who could,
standing and kneeling. The military chaplain,
just from the front, his surplice over his uniform,
Mrs P. playing the organ, her daughter the cello,
almost all the men singing, a very short sermon,
and then the prayer we hear every Sunday for
all our soldiers all over France, dead and wounded,
those fighting at the front who might be called
upon at any moment to give their lives to their
country, and for those at home to bear with
courage and resignation the sacrifices they would
have to make. There wasn't a sound in the ward
for a few seconds after the benediction except
the booming of the cannon. Then, silently, all

AN IMPRESSIVE SERVICE 319

that white-robed assembly, nurses and doctors,
went back to their work. To-day I have been
at the English service, held in a large bare white-
washed room at the top of the Hotel de Ville.
At one end a screen and small table with a few
flowers and two silver candlesticks, three flags —
the tricolor, Union Jack, and Red Cross — floating
over the table, a chancel-rail with no cushion, a
strip of carpet, and a harmonium very well played
by an English soldier. The room was full of men
in khaki, officers and soldiers. I was the only
woman, which rather surprised me. I thought
there would have been some English nurses. The
chaplain had his surplice over his uniform, with
a long black stole with M.C., " Military Chaplain,"
embroidered on the ends. There was an Army
prayer-book on each chair, with only the Liturgy
and a few psalms and hymns. The men sang
well, the hallelujahs rolled out in fine style. It
made me choke a little to think how many might
never see another Easter. Hazebrouck is only
a resting-place. There is no large concentration
of troops ; the men pass through on their way
to the front, and such terrific fighting is going on
now at this front. There were two young officers,
babies, just in front of me, smooth-faced, red-
cheeked boys, looking as if they were just out
of the playing-field at Eton. They followed the
service very reverently, kneeling on the hard
stones, and I wondered if far away in England,
across the sea, their mothers were listening to
the same Easter hymn, hoping and praying that
the next Easter would see them all at home again.
The padre — they call all the ecclesiastics, regardless

320 WITH THE BRITISH

of their sects or nationality, padres — made a short,

simple address ; there was another hymn ; and

then, just before the blessing-, he advanced to the

front of the chancel-rail, saying- "The King."

The harmonium gave the opening chords of

"God Save the King," all the congregation, men

and officers, standing at attention and singing

with a will. It was most impressive. When I

came out, I saw two dogs waiting for their masters

at the door. They were quite good, not tied nor

making a sound of any kind. As I walked along,

two squads of men overtook me, marching back

to their barracks with a light quick tread, their

sergeants alongside swinging their canes. The

congregation of St Eloi, the big church, was just

coming out as I passed. There were a great

many children dressed in white, with white bows

in their hair, and quite a number of British

soldiers, some Highlanders among them. The

sun came out, which was lucky for us, as Charlotte

had asked some of the officers to come to tea, and

hunt for coloured eggs in the garden. I met Francis

and one of his officers riding into the courtyard

as I came in. While we were waiting in the

verandah for luncheon, Francis asked me where

I had been. I told him to the English service —

I felt I must hear the Easter hymn. "Which

one?" asked Major A. "Won't you play it on

the piano?" "With pleasure." I began to play

and sing, and they all joined in. Major A.,

thanking me most warmly, said it reminded him

of home and his wife and children. He hasn't

seen them, of course, since the beginning of the

war. He is a good specimen of the Colonial,

COLONIAL OFFICERS 321

simple, gay, a good soldier, proud of England,
but a great deal prouder of Australia. Charlotte
photographed his horse after lunch : he is a beauty.
All the Australian and New Zealand officers are
splendidly mounted. I liked his wanting to sing
the hallelujahs, it was so simple. Our afternoon
was pleasant and warm. About a dozen officers
came to tea, and all looked for eggs, occasionally
kicking a football across the lawn. It was funny
to see the tall soldiers bending down and looking
in the grass and flower-beds, announcing it with
pride when they found any. It was a cheerful
afternoon though the big guns roared incessantly.
If one stops to think what that ominous sound
means, one could hardly bear it ; but all the men
who come from the front beg their friends behind
the lines to be gay and not to dwell all the time
upon the horrors they have been through. I have
heard so many say, like poor Rohan,1 " But we
must be gay, it is the French character. We
want to be distracted when we come out of the
trenches, and forget all the horrors we have
been through. It won't prevent our fighting and
dying game when the time comes." Poor fellow,
he was killed three or four days after that dinner
when we were discussing the subject. Capt. S.
came to dinner, bringing a bottle of champagne.
.Major A. and he drank the health of the United
States, and sang the "Star-spangled Banner" and
'God Save the King" after dinner. The piano
is a resource. It is rather bad, very bad really,
and all the notes don't sound, but we have had

1 Due de Rohan.

322 WITH THE BRITISH

it tuned and broken strings mended, and it does
for accompanying-. We can only play the Russian
hymn, not sing- it, as none of us know the words.
The guns have been very heavy all day, making
the old house and windows shake.

I was awake early this morning. My room
looks out on the street, and since the first grey
streaks of dawn I had heard a great rumble of
heavy carts and lorries passing under the windows
and distant strain of music. When I opened the
windows I let in great clouds of dust. A whole
English division was passing, and had been for
over an hour. The heavy lorries had already
passed, but the artillery was moving up. Each
gun-carriage had six horses or mules, a man
riding one horse and leading the others, two
on the seat of the carriage, and the big guns
looking grim and deadly. Both men and horses
looked well. After the guns came boats on
camions, from which we inferred they were going
towards the Yser, and long carts loaded with
planks to make bridges, Major L. told us. Then
came field kitchens, chimneys smoking, soup
evidently being made as they marched. Then
long lines of infantry, a procession of carts
carrying all sorts of things, luggage, food, etc.
On some of them were dogs, on one a goat with
blue ribands on his horns, the " Mascot of the
Regiment." The music was very good, three or
four full military bands, which struck up as soon
as they got into our street (our house is at the
end, giving on the Grand Place), some with
drums and fifes only, which I liked very much.
It sounds so martial. The cavalry came last,

GERMAN BRUTALITIES 323

their horses very good, and again I was struck
with the extreme youth of the officers. The troops
are very well received by the townspeople. The
women and girls stand at the doors and windows,
nod and smile and wish them "Bonne chance"
or "Au revoir, mes amis." The men nod and
smile in answer, but don't say anything. They
are not so gay as our Poilus, who always have
something to say. Their marches too are less
inspiriting, there is often a note of sadness. They
don't seem to play the old tunes any more we
used to know: "The British Grenadier" and
"The Girl I left behind Me."

We are overrun with refugees. As the British
advance, the Germans retreat, burning and
destroying everything behind them, and driving
the unfortunate peasants away at the point of
the bayonet. They arrive here in bands, and the
town does all it can for them, but there is
literally no more room. Even the small farms
and hamlets are full of English troops. They
seem to be massing a large force here, in view,
I suppose, of the great offensive which is announced
for the late spring. We have some families in
some wretched rooms, garrets, which the town
has given. There is no furniture, except a bed
with a bag filled with straw as mattress, a table
and chair, neither sheets, blankets, clothes, nor
food. Charlotte is quite unhappy over the
children, and has sent over what she could, but
our relief fund is getting very low, the demands
are so incessant and so urgent. One can't let
the children die under one's eyes. Two of them
are dead. They had been living for weeks in

324 WITH THE BRITISH

a cellar without air or light or food, frightened
to death besides. One mother is quite dazed ;
she hasn't seen her husband since the beginning
of the war ; saw her father shot for refusing to
give information as to the whereabouts of the
English, and her sister, a girl of 14, carried off
in a cart by German soldiers, crying and struggling,
and begging her sister to take her away from
them. The doctor says it is better the children
should die, they can never grow up to be strong
men and women capable of earning their living.
One poor woman whose little girl died (she arrived
absolutely naked, wrapped in a bit of old carpet)
wanted a pretty funeral in the big church of St
Eloi, and the girls with their white veils walking
behind the coffin. Of course, Charlotte arranged
it for her, and gave her mourning for herself and
her two remaining children. The doctor thinks
one of them too will die. The poor thing seemed
quite resigned and satisfied after the funeral.
Charlotte will try and get her some work, but
must just provide brooms and soap and a tub,
as no one would give her any work until the
room is cleared up.

It has snowed all day quite hard. The snow
lies on the ground, the lawns are white. The
little red-brick houses opposite my windows look
almost pretty with the snow on the roofs and
framing the windows in their red setting. Francis
started back this morning; he has about 30 kilo-
metres to ride, but I think he got back before
the storm began. He is always loaded with
parcels ; his saddle-bags are a curiosity, the officers

A HEAVY SNOWSTORM 325

always clamour for books and bonbons. My little
friend Francis P. keeps me well supplied with
all the new books, and they are a godsend to
us and the various messes.

Charlotte has had a long- day, as she wanted to
go to her little girl's funeral, and take the mother
and two children to an aunt who lives about
20 kilometres away. Transportation is always
difficult. There are no autos, very few carriages,
and those with only one horse. However, they
managed it, and as Francis was only a little farther
off, she went to have tea with him at his mess.
The officers were very pleased to have her. The
Australian soldier-cook had made some scones,
and the hot tea was very acceptable. She came
home in a driving snow-storm, said she wasn't
frozen as she had plenty of furs and rugs. She
took her maid with her, as she couldn't run the
risk of having an accident on those dark bad
country roads alone. She found me installed in
the dining-room (grill-room) ; I had been obliged
to emigrate from the verandah. The heavy snow
had made a steady drip on the glass roof and
we had a running stream in the middle of the
room. The wind or snow or something had made
the stove smoke, and the combination made the
salon . . . impossible. It is incredible how one
can manage without any of the ... I can't say
luxuries, but necessities of life, when one must,
but of course there is but one feeling in our hearts.
If we are uncomfortable, what must our poor
soldiers be going through, and I am afraid with
the prospect of another war-winter before them.

The days are interesting; it is curious to live

326 WITH THE BRITISH

with the working staff of an English garrison. All
day long there is a procession of people coming in
and out, soldiers, civilians, women, French and
Flemish, "these last very voluble and perfectly
incomprehensible," as they speak an extraordinary
language of their own which is neither French nor
Flemish. I should think the Town Major's life
was not all roses ; he is responsible for everything
that goes on in the town. The women are very
trying ; they generally have a grievance, a long
story about a field ruined, the whole crop of the
year lost, horses turned loose in it, or broken gates,
and holes in floors. The Major sends one of his
men to inspect, and generally the damage has been
grossly exaggerated. However, the British pay
well and money is flowing into Hazebrouck.

The town is full of troops passing through, and
the billeting is no easy matter. With the old
regular British soldier things go well enough, but
with the Volunteers and the Colonials, especially
the Anzacs, who are quartered in this part of the
country, it is much more difficult. They are a fine
lot of men, young, strong, very well mounted ; are
volunteers many of them, wealthy men, privates
richer than their officers sometimes. Their horses
have all been brought from Australia, a sea voyage
of ninety days. They told me they had lost very
few. They are splendid fighters, but utterly un-
disciplined— quite regardless of military etiquette,
saluting superior officers or any such trifles. We
see big fellows striding along in their high boots
and spurs and big hats, looking in at all the shop
windows, smiling and nodding to the girls, and
evidently thinking the world was made for them.

A COOKING SCHOOL 327

Several girls in the town have married British
soldiers, and were obliged to go to England as
soon as they were married. No soldiers, officers
or men, can have their wives with them on cam-
paign. One of the men married the daughter of a
small shop-keeper, and her mother read us one of
her letters the other day, in which she says she is
quite a lady, has a servant to wait upon her, and
has a bath every day.

There is very little noise or drunkenness in the
streets, which rather astonishes me. The first
year of the war, the Tommies indulged freely, and
we used often to see soldiers rolling along or
sprawled on the benches in the Champs Elysees.
I fancy Major L. is very strict. He has an inter-
preter, as his knowledge of French is limited, who
is supposed to know English very well, having
lived for twelve years in Manchester in an English
business-house, but I must confess I can't always
understand him. It is very reassuring to live in a
house full of soldiers whenever we have a " Taube "
alerte, and we have had several. The Major
orders all lights out, shutters closed, and we take
refuge in a dark corridor in the middle of the
house, the safest part. I am getting accustomed
to the big guns which roar all day ; I realise that
they are far away, but the air guns over our heads
and a horrid little machine gun at the top of the
hill make me nervous.

We went one morning to see the cooking
school. Capt. C, the officer in charge, showed
us everything. The men were just finishing
putting up a field oven, which takes one hour and
a half to make with bricks, or hard earth, or bits

v

328 WITH THE BRITISH

of tin boxes ; anything" which comes to hand easily.
There has been such waste in the British Army
that they have organised a great many cooking
schools. They only use rations, save every crumb
of biscuit, with which they make very good pastry.
We tasted everything' — all excellent. A good-
looking young New Zealander took us over with
Capt. C. We saw some very good mutton that
was being cooked in the stock-pot for the men's
dinner. I said, " Is that New Zealand mutton? it
ought to be good." " Yes, Madame, the best in
the world," replied the young sergeant. A big
British sergeant-major, with all sorts of medals,
cooked for us. He put an apron over his uniform,
also white sleeves, and made all sorts of things :
rissoles, chester cakes, Welsh rarebit, an excellent
tart. They presented us with a very good pate"
made of potted beef, and a large piece of yellow
ration cheese for Welsh rarebit. The men stay
about two weeks, are very keen about learning.
Francis would like to send over their Australian
cook. He says he is very good, but none of the
Anzacs care about very refined cooking'. They
have plenty of food, "such as it is"; four sub-
stantial meals a day, very strong tea with each
meal. We have always one or two officers to dine
on Sunday when Francis comes. Neither the
china nor the plate are very beautiful, but the cook
is good and willing. As Monsieur le Town * always
dines on Sunday, his orderly serves, and the dinner
goes fairly well and quickly.

1 The Major is always called " Monsieur le Town " in the
town.

SHELLED VILLAGES 329

We went to see Francis at his cantonment
one afternoon. He is about 30 kilometres away,
and the difficulty was how to get there. There
are very few conveyances to be had in the town,
no autos, and with the wonderful old carriage
drawn by one horse, which was all we could get,
we should have been hours on the road. I couldn't
undertake such a long expedition. Thanks to the
Major's interpreter, who knows everybody in the
town, we got a motor lent to us, on condition that
we should provide our own petrol. That we were
quite ready to do, and it was not unreasonable on
the part of the owner, who is a refugee, a cotton-
spinner from Armentieres. His factory is burned
and some of his machines, happily not all, and he
goes over often to see how things are getting on.
Sometimes the shells are flying freely through the
streets, and he can't get into the town, at least no
farther than the first cellars, which are all arranged
to shelter people.

The drive was rather a long one ; the country
is not at all pretty, low and uninteresting. We
passed through several villages which had been
shelled the first years of the war ; two or three
churches with gaping holes in walls and roof,
cottages with neither roof nor windows. The four
walls, sometimes a canvas or thick linen covering
as a roof, but the people were all back, planting
potatoes, doing a little ploughing. Some families
living in a shed put up on the spot where their
house had been. Francis was waiting for us at
the mess, and as it was too early for tea (3.30), he
suggested we should go and pay a visit to the cure"
where he is lodged. We found a nice, refined-

330 WITH THE BRITISH

looking old priest, who gave us very good wine
(it seems his cellar is famous), and we inspected
Francis' room, which is perfectly comfortable and
clean, but small. The cure's sister looks after him,
washes and mends his clothes, and brings him his
chocolate in the morning — a typical "sceur de
cure." I know so many of her kind in the French
villages. The cure took us to see his church,
which is absolutely ruined ; roof, windows gone on
the ground, heaps of ashes, stones, bits of coloured
glass, twisted iron, broken bell and "benitier."
The high altar untouched, also the statue of the
Virgin, which has happened so often when the
churches have been destroyed. The cure was
made prisoner and obliged to look on and see his
church burning when they set fire to it. Charlotte
made some good photos with her Kodak. One
was rather pathetic ; the old white-haired cure,
standing in the middle of the church, surrounded
by heaps of blackened broken stones. We went
back to the mess for tea, and had a pleasant hour.
We found about eight officers : two English, all the
rest Australian and New Zealanders. They gave
us very good tea, jam, tartines of bread and butter,
cakes, and very good scones. They all beg for
books, and we have already sent a great many.
They also wanted to be photographed. Charlotte
made some, which seemed very good. After tea,
we went to see the horses. The New Zealand
ones are splendid, big strong beasts ; the men, too,
great big fellows. They are longing to get into
the fight again (some had been to Gallipoli).
I suppose they will, as soon as the offensive begins,
and cavalry can be of any use. We had a nice

A GRENADE-THROWING SCHOOL 331

run home, stopping" in the woods to pick primroses,
and rather a pretty pale-blue wild flower I didn't
know. We didn't hear any cannon until we got
near Hazebrouck. It was a peaceful country
scene, the roads deserted, nothing- passing but
the military autos, not many of them, and lorries.
There wasn't a sound. Except for the ruined
cottages in some of the villages, one would never
have thought a war was going on.

We lunched one day at the Chateau de la
Motte, with Baroness de L. She has had
Germans very near, but not actually in her house,
though she is so near the front. Though she has
had no Germans, she has plenty of British soldiers
quartered there since the beginning of the war.
She had an English General and his staff for a
long time. They occupied the whole house, leaving
her one wing with a sitting-room, dining-room,
and a few bed-rooms. They built her a kitchen, as
she, of course, was obliged to give up her big
kitchen, which her cook couldn't share with the
British cooks. Major Seddell went with us, also
Anzac Frank's fox-terrier by special invitation.
She came for us in her auto, and she picked up
a British Colonel we met on the road, who is
stationed at the village of La Motte, where there
is a school for "grenade throwing." He lives in
a little house in the village, and says he has never
been so comfortable in his life. The house is
owned by four maiden sisters, who do everything
for him — cook, mend, wash, and look after him as
carefully as possible. Madame L. was very
interesting, telling of some of her experiences.
She has remained at her chateau ever since the

332 WITH THE BRITISH

beginning- of the war, quite alone at one time with
her maid and a young religieuse. The cook and all
the other women — she had no men left, none of us
had — went off by the last conveyance that started
from the village. The Germans were in the next
village, very near her, but none got as far as the
chateau. She and the little nun used to crawl
over the lawn close to the canal, where the guns
were very loud, to see what was going on. She
said it was pretty trying at night, no lights
anywhere, not a sound except the guns, very near,
and a haunting terror of what might come to her.
The cure in the next village was shot. She was
very brave and helpful. She is very good to all
the Australians who are quartered in this region,
often has them at the house, and lets them have
games and concerts in the park. She had Maori
dances the other day on the lawn, said they were
very wild and picturesque. The men brought
their own music. They call her Lady Anzac.
The chateau is large, with a good park and plenty
of water, a small lake, and the canal skirts the
garden. The entrance hall has a great deal of
cachet. Her husband (she is a widow) was a
great sportsman, and there is an interesting
collection of all kinds of stuffed birds and animals
and curious old arms in the hall.

It has suddenly become very warm. We are
suffocating in our heavy black dresses. We rarely
go into town, but spend all day in the garden,
where we have made a fairly comfortable installa-
tion with hammocks, straw chairs, and tables in
a secluded corner. There is such a procession of
people here all day that it would be like living

THE "TOWN MAJOR v 333

in the street if we hadn't hidden ourselves a little.
The other day, C. and the Major thought they
would do some painting-. The Major had made
some standing- bookcases out of old packing-boxes,
but they looked rather unfinished, and must be
painted. The furniture in our verandah is very
limited. We don't want to buy anything, as we
may go at any moment if the town should be
bombarded, which is quite possible. The Boches
could reach us easily with their long-range guns,
but Hazebrouck is not an important place. It
would not be worth while to waste their ammunition.
We can't hire anything, but some of the neighbours
have lent us tables and lamps. I bought an easy-
chair the other day, but I think it was stuffed
with corn-cobs. I had to buy a cushion to put on
the seat. The books our friends send us are a joy,
as the literature one sees here is exclusively for
Tommies. Flaming pictures of soldiers and sailors
and wonderful titles : " The Hero of the Trenches,"
"The Victor of the Wabes," "My Blue-eyed
Girl," etc. Major sent his orderly out for paint-
brushes and pots of ripolin, and they established
themselves at the bottom of the garden, each with
a white apron, he in his shirt-sleeves. They were
working quite happilv, rather doubtful as to the
colour of their ripolin, which did look very red,
when we saw a tall officer striding across the
lawn. It was the D.P.M., "Deputy Provost
Marshal," who had come to see the Major on
business, and not finding him in his office, thought
he would walk about the garden He was much
amused to find the "Town Major" so busily
engaged in what was perhaps not strictly official

334 WITH THE BRITISH

work, and I think was rather sorry that he
couldn't sit down and paint too. However, he
carried off the Major, who hung- his apron on
a tree, and slipped into his tunic as he went back
to the house. It is just as well we have a quiet
corner, as there are frequent interruptions.

We didn't get much sleep last night. From
three in the morning troops passed under our
windows, the heavy lorries, caterpillars, and big
guns on camions making- a great noise and
shaking the old house and our beds. There is
a great movement of troops these days, and, for
the first time, a great deal of cavalry. We hope
that means Germans retreating and cavalry
pursuing-. Francis says his Anzacs are dying to
move ; for weeks they have been exercising and
manoeuvring, and both men and horses are in
splendid condition. I can't get accustomed to
that steady roll of guns and tramping of men and
auto-buses. I stand at the window and watch the
long sinister procession winding down the hill, a
long straight line with scarcely any lights, and
when one realises that the auto-buses are filled
with men going straight to the front, it is very
difficult to go to sleep. We don't know anything
of what is going on. Even our Paris letters tell
us nothing. If they did, they would be censored.
C. had one the other day with everything struck
out except the address and the signature. A few
words, ' Nous allons tous bien, il fait tres chaud,"
was all that arrived — rather like the King of
Spain's famous letter to his Queen, "Madame, il
fait grand vent, et j'ai tue trois loups."

There is an aviation camp near here. We

AVIATORS1 RISKS 335

see the avions start very often, about sunset,

making- straight for the German lines, flying- low

at first, and then rising higher and higher until

they look like small spots upon the sky. Many

of the men have been killed. Two or three days

before I came, one of Francis' friends was

killed. They were much cut up. He was a

charming boy, only 20 ; ran away from school to

join the "Flying- Corps," was already Captain.

He came often to the house and was very good

to little Frank, showing him how to work his

toy aeroplane. C. rather protested at his taking

so much trouble about the child's toy, he who

had known the real thing and been in so many

air fights ; but he said it interested him, and

besides, he wanted to get all he could out of life,

as he knew he would soon be killed. The loss

of life among the aviators is terrible, 80 per cent.

They all know it, but all want to fly. The last

time they saw him he was rather down ; promised,

however, to come back the next Sunday for lunch,

and to bring some particular kind of linen they

had at their camp to make wings for the boy's

plane. C. and the child bid him goodbye at the

gate, where his motor-cycle was waiting. He

mounted his iron horse, then got down, came back

and kissed Frank again. " I will come on Sunday,

if I get through safely this next time." On Tuesday

he was killed. He must have had some sort of

presentiment to come back and kiss the child.

The poor little boy was terribly upset when he

heard his friend was killed. The big- English

soldiers are very good to Frank, play with him

so gently. The boy often interprets for the Major,

336 WITH THE BRITISH

and went the other day with a sergeant to one of
the outlying farms to see about billeting some
gunners and their batteries. The Major says he
does it very well, very accurately, and the child
is quite happy, feels so important. The two
French maids are on the best of terms with the
Major's staff. They don't speak any English, nor
the British soldiers any French, but we hear a
great deal of conversation, and there is an exchange
of canteen supplies, cheese, jam, corned beef, etc.,
against chocolates, pates, which is very convenient.
The English canteens are very well supplied, every-
thing very reasonable. They got very good white
bread, which we don't have. We eat the ordinary
pain de menage, which is often heavy and
indigestible.

Hazebrouck, May.

May has come in like a lamb. The garden
changes every day and is a joy to us, we are
always in it. We went for tea in the woods the
other day, carrying our tea-basket and getting
some water from a farm. It was lovely and quiet
in the woods. We didn't hear the guns at all.
We made a good fire to boil our water, and sat
on the moss with periwinkles and cuckoos all
around. We walked home across the fields, the
aeroplanes from Marie-Capelle passing over our
heads making straight for the German lines.
Hazebrouck looked almost pretty as we got near,
the steeple and towers of St Eloi standing out
well against the bright sunset clouds. It was such
a peaceful country stroll, that it was quite a shock

A FIGHT IN THE AIR 337

to hear again the sullen boom of the guns, which
we had lost entirely in the woods.

The lovely weather continues. We read the
English papers every morning" under the big- tree
on the lawn, and try to persuade ourselves that
the Russian uprising isn't as bad as it sounds,
but it is difficult to have any illusions about Russia.
We don't really know what is going on, and it
is very difficult for us, modern and practical and
independent, to understand the extraordinary Slav
mentality.

Charlotte and Major and Frank have been
to tea, and to fish with Colonel B. this afternoon.
Most original fishing, gold-fish. The moat which
surrounds the house where Colonel B. lives is filled
with gold-fish. They multiply so quickly that the
proprietor is delighted when any of his friends
will come and fish. They had a pleasant afternoon.
There were two or three officers there, one young
fellow who had lost his arm, and they had good
sport fishing with nets and lines. Colonel B.'s
orderly came home with them, carrying the fish
in a pail. Frank put them at once into our pond,
where they seem quite happy.

We had a disagreeable experience last night,
or rather early this morning. We were wakened
about 4.30 by a tremendous noise of guns,
apparently just over our heads. Everyone in
the house got up, and we stood in a dark corridor
in the middle of the house for about fifteen minutes
listening to the anti-aircraft guns and the mitrail-
leuses at the top of the hill. The noise was infernal,
and the sky an angry red with bursting shells and
rockets. Our old house was shaken to its founda-

338 WITH THE BRITISH

tions ; then the fire slackened a little. M. G.
"interpreter" went downstairs and came back
with a piece of shell that had fallen in the court-
yard of the house opposite us. As the firing'
seemed to die out and be farther away, we thought
we might as well go back to bed. I stayed a few
minutes in C.'s room, when suddenly the guns
began again. We all took up our position in
the corridor, C. and I at the top of the stairs,
when we heard a terrific crash and the sound of
broken glass, then silence. After waiting- a few
moments, one of the sergeants came up, telling
us that a bomb had crashed through the glass
roof of the verandah ; he brought up some shrapnel
which had fallen on the floor. However, that was
the end that night. We heard no more firing,
the red light faded out of the sky, and the town
was absolutely quiet. I went back to my room,
but couldn't get to sleep for some time. I must
frankly say that I was unnerved. I was afraid,
and I don't like to be afraid. If the children were
not here, I would certainly go back to Paris.
The machine guns and the red light in the sky
are terrifying, but I can't be more of a poltroon
than anybody else, and if my time has come it
won't make any difference if a fragment of shell
or a fever carries me off. It is curious how one
forg"ets the horrors when daylight comes and we
take up our normal life. Several officers came
in to tea. I said to Colonel B., " Isn't it extra-
ordinary, here we are sitting on the lawn as
usual, having tea and playing with the dog, and
last night we were frightened to death ; perhaps,
though, you weren't." "I was, indeed," he said.

MORE NIGHT ATTACKS 339

" I live near the station, and they always come
there, hoping to get trains with soldiers and
ammunition." He went on to say, " Never believe
it, madame, when a soldier tells you he is not
afraid of aeroplanes, it isn't true. I am an old
soldier and could face rifles and cannon without
flinching, but these awful things that drop down
upon you suddenly out of the clouds are terrible.
One is perfectly helpless, as in an earthquake, and
nothing tells more on one's nerves." I was rather
consoled, for I was ashamed of having been so
completely unnerved. C. went with Major to
see if much harm had been done in a street near
the station ; one house had the roof off and holes
in the sides, but no one was much hurt ; one man
wounded, a horse killed.

It has been a beautiful day, and since early
morning a long sinister procession of guns, lorries,
and big carts loaded with planks has passed ;
two cavalry regiments with full field equipment.
They raise clouds of dust and shake the house.
Poor old house, with cannon always going at
the back, a big discharge breaking panes of glass
and making all the doors fly open, and the steady
rumbling of lorries and camions in front. The
men all look cheerful, have no idea where they
are going, but always in the same direction,
Arras.

We had again an agitated night, and spent our
usual anxious half-hour in the corridor. There
seemed to be several aeroplanes just over our
heads, and bombs were Hying about freely. I
heard, for the first time, the scream of the shell
as it flew over the house, and didn't like it at

340 WITH THE BRITISH

all. I am certainly getting a coward in my old
age. So many things make me nervous now.

Charlotte and Frank went off to Boulogne this
morning. Her brother has arrived from Algiers
on a short leave, but couldn't get permission to
come as far as Hazebrouck, and asked her to
meet him half-way. I am left with the British
Army. The Major takes very good care of me.
I dined with him at his mess this evening. We
walked there, as they mess in Mademoiselle
Bieswal's pretty old provincial house in the main
street, with a big garden, almost a park behind,
which is almost opposite to us, a few yards to
walk. She lodges several officers, and has given
her dining-room to the mess. It is a large, high,
white-panelled room opening on the garden.
There were four or five officers and two ladies —
Madame de L., who is directress of the military
hospital here, and a prominent worker on the
committee "des Enfants de la Frontiere," and a
friend of hers, Madame L. Both ladies spoke
English well, and the talk was general and easy.
The dinner was very good, flowers and fruits on
the table, the orderlies serving. The British
regular officers were amusing over the Colonials
and Kitchener's armies, all new to their work,
very eager but very particular about their lodgings,
can't understand that they don't find baths in
all the village houses. We dined without lights,
the days are so long now. Candles were lit only
at the last moment, when the "port" was handed.
They are much pleased at America's coming in
at last, and hope she will send over an Expedition-
ary Force. She hasn't got any army, and, I should

AMERICAS PROSPECTS 341

think, very little in the way of arms. The Yankees
can't fight now as they did in the great Revolu-
tion, with sticks and pitchforks, but I think they
will make good all the same. Madame L. li\es
in our street, so we walked home together in the
dark, the only light being rather a dim lamp that
hangs over the Major's door.

I lunched to-day with Mademoiselle Bresmal.
More than half of her house is given up to the
British officers. They have left her two small
rooms and a kitchen on the ground floor. Her
big old-fashioned Flemish kitchen, opening into
the court, with a large furnace, and coppers and
brasses shining and polished, is also taken by
the British. We had an excellent breakfast, very
good white bread made at home, which we never
get. We talked a little after breakfast, and she
was interested enough, telling what Hazebrouck
was like before the great Revolution. She is
a perfect type of the " Haute Bourgeoisie," which
is one of the bulwarks of France, very polite,
very charitable, is Presidente of the Croix- Rouge,
and does a great deal of good.

Charlotte and Frank arrived yesterday for
tea, laden with packets of all kinds: books, clothes,
shoes, food, toys. They had two nice days with
her people, said Boulogne was full of English.
Their hotel crowded with officers, food scarce,
really not enough to eat and very dear. Before
the war the cuisine was famous in that hotel.
The train too was full of English officers, many
old colonels, and even generals retired for years,
taking up service again at the back, to let younger
men go to the front. She said they were all very

342 WITH THE BRITISH

friendly and sociable, and all most enthusiastic
about America and the prompt energetic measures
she was taking.

We have had some lovely warm days. The
verandah was rather trying. We have had every
kind of experience in our salon ; been cold and
wet and half choked with smoke, but in war
times one gets accustomed to everything. How-
ever, there is always a shady corner in the garden.

The guns are very heavy to-day — not only the
house, but the earth trembles under our feet.
The English papers are very blue. They have no
confidence in Russia, are afraid Italy will follow
her lead. They are certainly wonderful allies ;
have been supplied with troops, cannon, and money,
for what ? There are changes in our army.
Petain has been named Generalissime, commands
now in Champagne ; Neville has been set aside.
No one seems to know why ; he did so well at
Verdun, but doesn't seem to have managed the
offensive as well. Always the same thing : the
infantry making brilliant advances, not sufficiently
supported by artillery, and terrific loss of life.

The movement of troops is extraordinary, and
yet we only see part of what passes here. No
infantry, only artillery and cavalry. The big guns
make one shiver. They are so heavy that they
are carried in sections — three lorries with six
horses, each carrying one part. The other day
an enormous gun that looked like the boiler of
a steamboat was carried by two camions, ten
horses each. After the guns come long lines of
wagons, a great many drawn by mules, and lorries
loaded with every conceivable thing : poles and

TROOPS ON THE MOVE 343

wire for telegraph and telephones, long planks for
building bridges and boats, cases innumerable
with provisions of all kinds, officers' baggage,
"sometimes tubs," then donkeys with big bundles
strapped on each side, led, not ridden. There
would be no place for a rider ; he couldn't put his
legs anywhere. The roll of heavy wheels and
tramp of horses kept me awake at first, and when
there was a halt I went to the window and looked
out. I couldn't distinguish anything but a long
dark line straggling down the hill, as far as one
could see, and almost imperceptible lights. The
night was quite dark, no stars. A group of motor
cyclists closed the march and halted directly under
my windows. They seemed a most cheerful lot,
whistled, sang: "If I were the only Girl in the
World and you were the only Boy," got off their
cycles, lit cigarettes, ran a few steps up and down
the street to rest their legs, and made the street
quite lively. However, there were no lights nor
any sign of life in the houses. I think the
Hazebrouck people have got accustomed to the
noise, though the inhabitants must ask themselves
sometimes if this is their peaceful little town before
the war, with its dull, empty streets and sluggish
canal, and groups of fat, prosperous Flemish
bourgeois standing placidly in the Grand Place.
I have always the impression of not being in
France. The Flemish influence seems to pre-
dominate, and one hears very little French in the
streets. The people all speak Flemish.

It has been a beautiful warm summer day.
Francis came to luncheon bringing two officers
of his brigade, a New Zealander and an Irishman.

z

344 WITH THE BRITISH

We sat all day in the garden, the men sprawled
out on rugs. Some of them went down to the
pond and helped Frankee sail his boats. He has
now quite a large fleet on the pond. Our dinner
was pleasant. Major M., the New Zealander,
couldn't stay, but the Irishman, Capt. I., did.
Our Major always comes on Sunday, and the two
officers were amusing, telling of some of their
subaltern experiences. Major's orderly, a nice-
looking man in uniform waits at table with the
French maid ; he is a friend of the gardener, and
helps him in his greenhouses, so he gets all the
flowers he wants and our "grill-room" table looks
rather festive. When the war is over and we all
take up our normal life again, these "intermezzi"
with the British Expeditionary Force will be
curious to remember. The guns made a great
noise. Capt. I. was quite astonished when a very
heavy discharge shook the house and burst open
the window. "Did we like it?" No, we didn't,
but it sounded far off. What we don't like are
the aircraft and their shrapnel falling into the
verandah, or in the garden.

We dined with Major last night at his mess.
They had arranged a small dinner, as a very good
military band was passing through the town. We
were four ladies, Mademoiselle Bresmal and her
niece, and eight or ten officers, some from St Omer
and other places near. We dined punctually at
8, so that the men could see to play without
lights. As they played in the garden, lighting
would not have been easy. There were thirty-
seven men ; would have been too many in the
dining-room, but just right for the garden. The

A DINNER PARTY 345

windows were open, and it made a pretty picture,
the half circle of men in uniform against a back-
ground of trees and tall plants in full flower. The
talk was lively enough, though the two Hazebrouck
ladies spoke no English, and the English not
much French. One of the men from St Omer
spoke French pretty well and he and Mademoiselle
Bresmal got on very well ; but the general con-
versation was in English, must always be when
the great majority is English. I had a very nice
elderly officer next to me. He had been retired
for a long time from active service, but had come
in as lieutenant at the beginning of the war. He
was the father of the young Capt. B. and of
Colonel B. who had lost an arm in the beginning
of the war. It seems the young man's great
delight was to meet his father in the street, who
would be obliged to salute him as his superior in
rank. When dinner was nearly over the Colonel
sent for the bandmaster, gave him a glass of port,
and we complimented him on his music. They
finished directly afterwards with the " Marseillaise "
and "God Save the King," everyone standing, of
course. We sat on for about an hour, talking war,
but they don't know any more than we do about
what is going on. They hope everything from
America, but she is an unknown quantity in such
a war as this. Her cavalry raids on the plains
and in Mexico can have given her no experience
for trench fighting and heavy guns. We walked
home, the streets as usual perfectly dark and
deserted. A group of very cheerful Australians
passed us singing, but they had a sergeant with
them who quieted them as he caught a glimpse

346 WITH THE BRITISH

by the lantern of the Town Major's badge. It
seems the mothers all make a sort of bogieman of
the Town Major, tell the children when they are
naughty that " Monsieur le Town " will lock them
up in the guardhouse.

Hazebrouck, June.

We had a nice day at Cassel yesterday ; had to
provide ourselves with as many sauf-conduits and
papiers d'identite as if we were going on a long
journey to foreign parts. No one looked at them,
nor asked us any questions, but I suppose it was
better to have them in case we should fall upon
gendarmes who were not well disposed. It was a
long drive, quite two hours, and a slow one, as we
couldn't get an auto and had to take the one-horse
Victoria, the only means of transport in the town.
The country is very ugly, flat and no trees, and
the sun beat down on our heads. It was only
when we began to mount the steep hill, on which
Cassel stands, that we got a little shade, had big
trees on each side of the road, every turn of the
wheels opening out a splendid view. Innumerable
officers' autos, dispatch riders, and lorries passed
us, raising clouds of dust, but we saw no civils
of any kind. We lunched at the famous Hotel du
Sauvage, in a window, looking over a lovely ex-
panse of green hills and meadows. The room was
filled with British officers, all much taken up with
us, evidently wondering who we were. A good
many of them stood up and saluted when we went
out. I don't believe they see ladies often, except
nurses, so near the front. At the table next us
were two infants, a major and a captain. They

CASSEL 347

looked hardly old enough to be out of Eton.
General P. has his headquarters here. He lives
in what used to be a hotel, in the highest part of
the town.

We climbed up a very steep path and found
ourselves in charming grounds, with trees and
flowers and benches. The air was lovely and the
view on all sides divine. We sat there some time
in the shade and then walked to the edge of the
cliff, where we had the whole plain before us ; saw
Dunkerque and Poperinghe, and Charlotte and
Frank made out Ypres. We made friends with
two young officers of the Irish Guards, and with
their powerful glasses saw very far. On a clear
day one can see the sea quite distinctly. We felt
it behind the dunes of Dunkerque. If Hazebrouck
should be bombarded, which is quite possible, we
might move up here. We did a little shopping in
the town, bought maps and postal cards, and
walked about in some of the queer, crooked little
streets. The Grand Place is fine, the inevitable
fountain in the middle, and some good old-fashioned
houses with high windows on the ground floor,
giving on the Place. Big courts with gates and
windows of very good ironwork, always gardens
running some distance back. No one seems to
live in them now. They are all given over to the
British Army for offices, hospitals, lodgings, etc.
" English spoken " and " Tea-room " posted up all
over the town. I believe it was a very important
place at one time. The Bourgeois of Cassel was a
big man.

The drive home was lovely ; should have been
much shorter than coming as it was down hill, if

348 WITH THE BRITISH

our driver had not put on his break at each almost
imperceptible fall on the road. We stopped a few-
minutes at the Aviation camp at Marie Capelle ;
an escadrille was just starting for its nightly flight
towards the German lines. It was pretty to see
the planes following each other pretty closely at
first, then gradually spreading out and mounting
into the clouds. It always gives us a heartache
as some never come back. They usually start
after sunset at nightfall, and their comrades left
in the camp count the hours until they come back.
We often see the men. They come and tell us of
comrades dead or missing quite quietly, as a matter
of course, and after a few minutes given to their
memory and recollections of various exploits done
together, the normal life goes on again, with the
tea-table on the lawn, and cigarettes, and occasion-
ally a song or two at the piano. It isn't want of
feeling or ignorance of danger ; they all carry their
lives in their hands and they know it, but they say
if they let themselves think they would lose their
nerve and be quite useless as aviators.

There is no news. Ribot made a good speech,
refusing the Socialist deputies passports to go to
the Stockholm Congress. He was well supported
by both Chamber of Deputies and Press.

There was a good military band on the Grand
Place to-day, which was packed with soldiers,
principally New Zealanders ; a fresh contingent
has just arrived. Charlotte, Frank, and I went
for a little while, but we were very warm and half-
suffocated with the dust made by the lorries and
New Zealand baggage-wagons, so we came home
to our cool, quiet garden, and left Frank in charge

COLONIAL TROOPS 349

of an M.P. ("not Member of Parliament, but

Military Police") who promised to look after him,

and sent him home in a military lorry, much to the

child's delight. He knows nearly all the police,

as he does a little casual interpreting- for them.

We had a quiet dinner with Francis and the

Major. Francis was rather emu ("Not as much,

however, as he would have been at the beginning

of the war ; one gets hardened ") as his orderly was

killed two days ago. He and two men went off on

a reconnaissance. He came to say good-bye to

Francis. They shook hands, the man hoped to

be back and take up his service again ; two days

later he was killed by a shell. They both told us

great preparations were being made, and if we

thought the guns were heavy it was nothing to

what it would be when the great British offensive

began. I am afraid we shall have no panes of

glass left in the windows of our poor old house.

I wonder what we shall do, as there is neither

glass nor glaziers to be had. Francis says they

expect to start now, any day. They have left D.,

their old quarters, and have moved nearer the

front where they are sleeping in huts ; no more

comfortable rooms at the Cure's. Their baggage

is packed ; they can start in half an hour. Major

M., a fine young New Zealander who commands

two battalions, told Francis he expected to lose

60 per cent, of men and horses when they came

into action. They are dying to start. The

Canadians are already in, fighting bravely, and

the Anzacs can hardly wait for their chance.

There is great rivalry between them and the

Canadians.

350 WITH THE BRITISH

We had again a disturbed night ; were all called
up, and took refuge in our corridor. The guns
sounded much nearer. The soldiers told us an
air fight was going on directly over our street. It
lasted as usual about fifteen minutes, then stopped
suddenly. Merely an occasional shot from our
guns to let the Germans know we were awake and
watching. We always sleep now with our money,
papers, and our jewels under the pillow, warm
coats and shoes by the bedside, in case real
bombarding should begin and we should be
obliged to seek shelter in the cellar or a quieter
corner of the town. Quantities of refugees have
come into the town to-day on foot, in farm wagons
full of women and children and animals, pigs,
chickens, and goats all packed in together. The
town can't keep them, is already overcrowded ;
they must move farther on into the interior.
Poor, miserable creatures ! We gave them bread
and milk, and tried to comfort them, but what can
one say. Francis went off after breakfast with all
sorts of things strapped to his saddle — books,
boxes of chocolate, stuff to make a mattress. He
says the planks are so hard he can't sleep, and is
so stiff in the morning he can hardly get on his
horse. He was rather emu when the last good-
byes were said, though he hopes to get back next
Sunday. The partings are hard ; I wonder how
many more are before us.

It is awfully hot. We are thankful to have
the garden. Troops of refugees are arriving. The
town authorities are at their wits' end. The French
apparently depend upon the English for everything,
and poor Major is overwhelmed with business.

A TOWN MAJOR'S DIFFICULTIES 351

He has people all day asking- him impossible
things. Sometimes, when his interpreter is out
Charlotte talks for him, and she is becoming strong
in British military language, and those mysterious
cabalistic letters of which I have only mastered
three: G.H.Q. "General Head Quarters." Some
of their experiences are funny. A rather pretty
dressy young lady appeared the other day
accompanied by a gendarme. She had a black
bottle under her arm, and explained that she was
the daughter of a woman who kept an "estaminet"
which the Town Major proposed to shut up as
he heard they sold alcohol to the soldiers, and
that there were very lively doings in the establish-
ment. She explained that there was nothing but
menthe in her bottle, would the Major taste himself ;
also that they were perfectly well behaved, did
no harm. She had brought the gendarme to
testify that the house was perfectly respectable,
which he did ; said he knew all about them, and
as to lively conduct, remarked like a true French-
man : "On riait bien un peu, faut que jeunesse
s'amuse." Another time an M.P. saying So
refugees had arrived, where were they to be put ?
The town was full. Then again the police. A band
of Australians, half of them drunk, had rescued
one of their comrades dead drunk from the hands
of the police, and had hurt one of the men. At
1 1 o'clock, just as we were going upstairs,
a camion appeared at the door with food : 500
kilos of jam, 500 of corn beef sent from the head-
quarters of the 2nd Army for refugees here, where
must they be sent? A letter had to be written
in French and sent to the Sous-Prefecture, asking

352 WITH THE BRITISH

where the food could be put. In a few minutes
the secretary of the Prefet arrived with a letter
saying the food must be sent to the Museum.
Major's messenger said the Prefecture was sound
asleep when he arrived, he had some difficulty in
rousing them.

There is good news this morning. The British
have taken Messines, made many prisoners, and
not had very heavy losses. It was rumoured in
the town yesterday, but we hardly dared to believe
it, though the cannonading had been incessant
and sounded much nearer. They say the Germans
were surprised, which seems extraordinary, as for
days people have been talking of the British attack,
and quantities of troops and big guns have passed
through Hazebrouck. Their aircraft, too, have
been very busy in all this region. They must
have known something was being prepared. We
want to go late one afternoon and dine with our
friends of " 50," who are quartered in the Trappiest
Monastery at Mont des Cats. We can't go inside
the Monastery, but they will give us dinner at
the estaminet at the gate. We want to see the
view which they say is magnificent at night.
Mont des Cats stands very high ; one sees the whole
plain. They say it is a wonderful sight, rockets
and bursting shells. The difficulty as usual is a
conveyance. No officers are allowed to take ladies
in their car, and the lively stable man won't give
us a carriage the hill is so steep.

We had quite an excitement this morning.
Major was called up about 8 o'clock. There was
a fire in the Museum where many refugees are
housed. Some children dropped lighted matches

THE HOSPICE 353

on the straw, which flamed up instantly. However,
thanks to the British soldiers and their fire-
extinguishing grenades, the fire was soon subdued,
and by the time we got there nothing" was to be
seen but smoke and showers of sparks. All the
refugees were huddled in one corner of the court.
Major told us it was amusing". No one seemed
to have any authority or to know what to do.
He picked up some soldiers as he hurried to the
scene and mounted a ladder to see how much
harm was done. Very little really. When the
local fire brigade appeared all was over, but as
they had no water it didn't matter. Major looked
like a chimney-sweep when he finally emerged,
face and hands quite black. We were a little
anxious about Francis, as he quite expected to
be in the Messines attack ; but we met a staff
officer as we were coming" home and he told us
the Anzacs were in but had returned safely to
their old quarters with very few losses, no officers.
Capt. S. came at tea-time to make arrangements
about our going for the night to Mont des Cats,
rather to the village at the foot of the hill. We
can get there by train, and he will take rooms
for us somewhere- After tea we went to the
Hospice where there was an official ceremony.
Madame Liouville was to receive the "Croix de
Guerre," with a fine citation for courage under
fire when she went to Armentieres to pick up
her children, and shells were falling on the town,
and also for her care of the sick and wounded.
The court of the Hospice was quite full, a double
line of Poilus from the gate to the big dining-room.
We had a long wait, over an hour, for the General

354 WITH THE BRITISH

Medecin-Chef who was to give the Cross. All the
notabilities of the town were there, and five or six
British officers. It was a typical French provincial
ceremony. The Abbe Le Mier, deputy, priest,
and Mayor with his badge of office, the Sous-
Prefet and his secretary, both in uniform, nurses
from the hospital, nuns from the Orphelinat, babies
from the "Regions devastees," bouquets, speeches,
champagne and foie gras, sandwiches. Madame
L. looked very well in her nurse's dress, and
thanked the General very simply and prettily. I
told her I was much disappointed that the General
didn't kiss her on both cheeks. We all congratu-
lated her most warmly. She has done splendid
work, not sparing herself at all, and I am glad
she has got the Cross. She wanted it very much.
They all do. The papers announce this morning
that Mrs Park also has the Croix de Guerre.
She has certainly deserved it. She has done
splendid work ever since the beginning of the war.
She opened her hospital at Annel ("making extra-
ordinary changes in her chateau so as to make
it suitable in every way") in August 191 4, and
has given her whole time and energy to her work.
The hospital is wonderfully run, most largely, all
the details so well carried out.

I went as usual to the service in the English
church. Charlotte and Frank met me in the
Grand Place, and we waited to see the procession
for the Fete Dieu. The old Flemish place looked
very picturesque. Flags and draperies floated
from all the windows and balconies, all traffic was
suspended, and a crowd of people, civilians, and
quantities of soldiers in every description of

AN IMPRESSIVE CEREMONY 355

uniform — English, Australians (" their big- slouched
hat is very picturesque"), Highlanders with bright-
coloured kilts, with a khaki jacket and Scottish
bonnet, French blue-coated poilus, the big British
military police keeping perfect order. The pro-
cession was very effective and imposing as it wound
around the great place, making a halt at an altar
just in front of the Hotel de Ville. It reminded
me of some of the processions one used to see
in the old days in Italy, where there was much
more colour and images and banners. All that
appeals to the impressionable Southern nature
one never sees in our colder soberer Northern
towns. The entire population of Hazebrouck
was out, a great many taking part in the
procession. The President and Committee of
the Croix Rouge walked in it with their banner,
all the clergy in gorgeous vestments, and I should
think every child and young person in the town.
Some of the girls with gold and silver wings,
coloured sashes on their white dresses, one pretty
group of little girls in white, with white veils and
wreaths of white roses, walking backwards scatter-
ing roses as the Sacrament " Le Bon Dieu qui
passe" was borne along. Almost everybody
knelt at the passage on the stones, and we saw
three or four British officers we knew who stood
at the salute. Just before the Host the Virgin
Mary walked in white, her fair hair flowing loose
over her shoulders, but with a blue veil, "again
like some of the Virgins in old Italian pictures."
She held the Enfant Jesus by the hand, a pretty
little fair boy with a white lily in his hand. It
was most curious and interesting, and completely

356 WITH THE BRITISH

transformed the old place. There was no music
except the chanting" of the priests and children,
which was continuous as each group took up their
cantique. No military band, but always the sound
of the cannon, a sinister accompaniment. We
rather wondered that no German aeroplanes made
their appearance, think they couldn't have known
that a great fete was going- on. It would have
suited their cowardly instinct to scatter bombs on
a crowd of women and children kneeling- at the
altar. We had one or two officers for tea, and
had a long conversation over the telephone with
Capt. S. who is at Mont des Cats and wants us
to come and dine with him and some other friends
to-morrow night at Mont des Cats. He has got
rooms in the little village at the foot of the
mountain. The British officers are quartered in
a monastery on top where no women are allowed
to penetrate. We have wanted to go for some
little time. Madame L. and others have been and
said the view from the top was magnificent. The
whole plain lit up with rockets and shells, but
of course that could only be seen at night. We
can go by train to Godeswerthwerk ("which the
British call Goddy for short, and one can't blame
them ") in about an hour, and then take a carriage
to the top of the mountain and dine with the
officers at an estaminet just outside the monastery.
Francis came over to dinner. He looked tired
but well. They had had three exciting and
interesting days at Messines. He said the
departure of the Anzacs was fine. They had
a farewell banquet at the mess the night before
they left, and started at 4 in the morning.

DEPARTURE 357

Me rode with the Colonel and stayed at his side
while all the squadrons passed, all delighted to go
and as cool as if they were on parade. He didn't
take off his clothes until Saturday morning. They
all slept on the ground with their heads on their
saddles, bombs falling freely around, and British
aeroplanes as thick as flies in the sky. Happily,
they had beautiful warm nights. His regiment
only lost 15 men, about 25 horses. The whole
British loss was about 10,000 killed and wounded.
Major L. dined as usual and was much interested
in Francis' account. The guns were very heavy
all the evening.

This will be my last letter from Hazebrouck as
I decided rather hurriedly to leave on Wednesday,
and I am writing on scraps of paper, late, as all
my (I can't say trunks as I haven't got any) bags
and bundles are made. We have had a most
delightful, but fatiguing twenty-four hours. The
heat is terrific, and I was most uncomfortable
in my heavy black clothes. We started at 3.30
yesterday, Charlotte, Frank, and I, and had a
very hot hour in the train which was crowded
with soldiers. It is one big English camp all the
way from Hazebrouck to Goddes. The British
sergeant at the station was very surprised to see
two ladies arrive. However, our passes were
quite correct and we gave Capt. S.'s name, who
would answer for us. We sat some little time
outside the station as our Captain was late, and
the poor man was very troubled, came up again,
and said he must ask some more questions. Would
we give him our Christian and family names? C.
was all right with Charlotte, but when it came to

358 WITH THE BRITISH

Sallandroze La Mornacy, her maiden name, that
was too much for him. She said Sallandroze
would do and wrote it for him. Then he
asked for mine, and was much puzzled as Mary-
King' didn't sound very French. He remarked,
" I can't think how you got your passes, ladies ; the
whole place is blocked with troops, no civilians
are allowed anywhere near. Perhaps you have
come to inspect field ambulances." We both had
on our medals, French and English Red Cross,
so we smiled at that and didn't say we had no
inspection to make or mission of any kind. At
that moment Capt. S. appeared and relieved the
poor man of all his misgivings. We went at once
with him to see our rooms, in a nice clean little
house just at the entrance of the village, saw the
patronne, a very respectable-looking widow, and
declined all offers of coffee or tea, as we were
going off at once. Capt. S. and Frank went off
to see about the carriage and C. and I walked
about the village, which consists of one long
straggling street, a Mairie, hotel, several nice
houses, and a few shops. We attracted a great
deal of attention, had a band of children walking
behind us, and certainly saw no one of our kind.
We could find nothing to buy but post-cards. We
met various officers who looked at us with much
curiosity, but all soldiers as well as officers saluted
us. One group of staff officers standing outside
their headquarters stared so hard with such
evident curiosity that we were rather embarrassed,
but they, too, saluted most respectfully. Capt. S.
told us afterwards that they thought it was
the Queen of the Belgians on a tour of

A TRAPPIEST MONASTERY 359

inspection. We found the vehicle, a most re-
markable specimen, waiting for us at the house.
However there were two horses, and they pulled
us up the long steep hill very well, about an hour.
The view was beautiful as soon as we began to
mount a little. All the plain spread out before us,
and not such a far view as from Cassel. The
country, too, is prettier, more undulating, and
more trees. The "Trappiest" monastery stands
very well, quite at the top of the mountain, and
there is quite a little hamlet at the gates. Certainly
those old, old monks knew very well how to choose
good situations for their monasteries — almost
always high, and with enough ground around them
to make excellent gardens. There are about fifteen
left, and the British officers have very good rooms
in the building. We women couldn't penetrate even
into the courtyard, but Frank went all over it the
next morning. It seems they are awfully strict.
Last year two English nurses got in, only to the
dining-room on the rez-de-chauss^e, and the monks
were half crazy. The whole place was disinfected
and purified and prayed for. The British officers
were much disgusted. It must be a terrible life.
The monks never speak, not even at meals, except
by special permission. The only ones who have
any communication with the outside world are the
Pere Superieur, who goes about a little, and the
Frere Econome, who does the marketing and
necessary purchases.

We dined at a small cafe, just outside the gates
of the nv mastery, in a private room with Captains
S. and I., and a Catholic padre who was rather
interesting. In a room next, some officers of the

2 A

360 WITH THE BRITISH

sniping- corps were dining-. We had a very good
dinner, and naturally, wherever British officers are,
plenty of champagne. After dinner we walked up
to the top of the mountain and had a fine view
over the plains, saw Bailleul, Ypres, Armentieres,
and Messines. It was a magnificent sight, like
gig-antic fireworks, rockets, flares of lig-ht from the
big guns, shells bursting in all directions, and
always the roar of the cannon, shaking the ground
under our feet. It was so warm and dry that we
sat on the grass, fascinated by the sight. The
officers said it was much quieter than the night
before, but it brought the war much nearer to us,
as we sat there, quietly thinking of the awful loss
of life that those deadly fireworks meant. We
went back to Goddes, in an ambulance, and rattled
down the hill in about ten minutes. I found it a
most uncomfortable mode of transport, was shaken
to pieces, but I fancy they don't go that pace when
they are carrying wounded. It was very late, but
our good lady had left the door unlocked and a
candle on a table, so we found our way upstairs,
had two rooms next to each other, sheets and
towels very clean, and I was glad to get to bed.
The officers said they would try to send the
ambulance for us the next morning, so that we
could come up to breakfast. We didn't wake very
early, and when we came downstairs to have our
coffee in a beautifully clean kitchen, we found that
a message had come, saying we couldn't have the
ambulance. It had gone off early to get some
wounded, but wouldn't we try and find a carriage,
and come up to breakfast. We had excellent
coffee, bread and butter and eggs, in the kitchen

GODDES 361

which was really a sitting-room, beautifully tiled
and clean, two wicker arm-chairs, and opened on
a little garden. The cooking was done in a shed
at the end of the garden, where there was a stove,
and all the cooking utensils she used. The copper
saucepans and kettles were all spread out, bright
and shining, on the dresser of the show kitchen.
The old lady was very talkative, showed us the
pictures of her children and grandchildren, and
told us all her family history. She said she had
some difficulty in keeping the rooms for us. She
had always lodged officers, and two came yesterday
and wanted absolutely to have the rooms ; when
she said they were reserved for ladies, were most
indignant ; ladies shouldn't travel in the war zone.
We had some difficulty in getting a conveyance ;
apparently every vehicle in Goddes had gone to
market somewhere, but Frank finally found us
one, promising a good pourboire. It was a most
remarkable two-wheeled unsteady trap. The
driver sat on the shafts, while C. and I scrambled
on to the back seat, a narrow plank with a strip
of carpet on it. If he hadn't kept it balanced, it
would certainly have collapsed with our weight.
Frank sat on the floor ; however he had a good
little horse which brought us up the hill very well,
and the driver promised to wait for us if we would
give him his breakfast, and take us down for
2.30 train. C. and I sat in the shade, on the side
of the hill, while Frank went into the monastery
to tell our friends we had arrived. It was a lovely
summer morning, and the stretch of green
meadows at our feet, with steeples rising every
now and then in the distance from little clumps

362 WITH THE BRITISH

of trees, and occasional glimpses of a silver line,
either river or canal, made such a peaceful, sleepy
landscape that we never could have imagined such
a cruel war was going on, had it not been for
the incessant growl of the cannon which sounded
much nearer than at Hazebrouck. We had a very
cheerful breakfast. Capt. S. told us that the
railway sergeant had us still on his mind. He
cycled up to the monastery early this morning
to tell him the two stranger ladies were still there,
and though Capt. S. told him we were leaving
by the 2 o'clock train, I don't think he believed
it until he saw us at the station really going away
from Goddes. Before we started down the
mountain, at the request of the officers, who said
they would certainly never see us again in such
an equipage, the vehicle with us all in it was
photographed. The journey back was uncomfort-
able, the train crowded with people — officers, nurses,
a few nondescript civils — and the heat frightful.
I have been packing all the afternoon and have
had a last dinner in the grill-room, and have
said good-bye to Major S. whom I hope we shall
see again. We have been making plans for him
and Mrs L. to come and see us at Mareuil, after
the war. I am leaving to-morrow morning early,
and I know I shall be homesick for Hazebrouck,
and the guns, and even the "Taube," though I
frankly say I was afraid of them, but at least one
felt one was in the fighting line. Shall I ever see
the quaint little French, Flemish town again ?

We made our home journey quite comfortably,
once we got started, but there was a great crowd

BOULOGNE 363

and confusion at the gare. We went early, and
one of the officers took us to a small room or
bureau of some kind where we could wait quietly
until our papers were examined. There were a
great many people in the room talking and asking
for information of all kinds, principally English,
but they didn't really talk loud or make much
noise.

A blue-coated French sergeant, seated at a
table, rather peremptorily told people to be quiet,
not to talk. I was rather astonished, and said to
the man: "Why mustn't they talk? They are
not noisy!" " On account of the English, Madame;
this is their bureau, and they don't like any one to
talk."

Our carriage as far as Boulogne was full of
young British, Australian, and Canadian officers
going on leave to England. Some of the
Australians had never seen London, and were
most excited at the idea, and so afraid they would
miss the boat at Boulogne, as we were late, of
course. They were all very gay, telling all sorts
of stories. They had a great deal to say about
the padres, for whom they seemed to have a great
respect ; said some of them were so human. One
had preached a splendid sermon one day, and
remained afterward talking to the men, still
reminding them that at any time their lives might
be asked of them, and they must give them
willingly for their country. They all agreed, and
one young fellow said : "All right, Padre, we'll all
play the game when the time comes ; but it isn't
for to-night. Come and have a drink!" 'Yes, I
will with pleasure," said the padre, and a good long

2 A 2

364 WITH THE BRITISH

drink he took, and then they all sang "God Save
the King-," and felt very happy and cheerful.

We passed again through the long lines of
barraques and tents that reach almost to Amiens.
At every station there were British soldiers and
nurses. It seemed almost strange at Amiens to go
out of the British atmosphere.

The Gare du Nord was crowded with blue-
coated soldiers coming home on a permission de
huit jours, all smiling and pleased to be back,
looking out so eagerly for their womankind, who,
they knew,|were waiting for them at the station —
wives and children standing for hours in the long
line to catch their first glimpse of their hero from
the Somme ; the children crowding around "papa,"
and carrying his bag or his bundle.

It is tragic to think how many "papas" will
never come back, and that we can do nothing for
any of our men at the front. All our prayers and
tears are unavailing if the decree has gone forth
and their lives must be given for their country.

PRINTED BY OLIVER AND BOYD, EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND

Boyd Cable's War Books.

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