Part 14
I wandered around by myself exploring further these streets of hollow mockery. A woman was standing in the doorway of a shop, gazing curiously to see an untamed American behaving as if at home. We exchanged "Bon jours," and I begged permission to step into her shop while I changed a film in my kodak. The place was bare, save for a few bicycle tires and tools piled on the counter, and these the woman told me she and her husband had buried when they were driven out nearly three years ago. The husband had been mobilized, and she, fortunately, had been able to go to relatives in the Midi.
"Goo!" came to me from the dark recesses of a perambulator, and there was a bouncing baby, born since the war. The woman came back six weeks ago, having heard that her shop was safe. She did not seem to be disheartened by the mutilation of her property and the loss of her stock, and has already tried to start in business again by selling odds and ends to the soldiers and few civilians who have returned like herself. "Mais que voulez-vous? Business doesn't go very well these days." I smiled. Competition may be the life of trade, but customers are pretty handy to keep it going.
I wished her au revoir, and told her I'd come back some day when her shop is rebuilt and she is doing more flourishing business than ever before.
Beyond Roye about eight kilometres, "as the shell flies," the old first-line German trenches can be seen from the road. Barbed-wire entanglements stretch away to left and right, half hidden in the grass, and dug-outs covered by heavy logs occur at intervals. Where the trenches began to run along close to the road, we left the motors and climbed down among the narrow, rustic walks that are trenches. The floors and walls are made of small boughs nailed nearly one inch apart, and the depth of the trenches is a little over six feet. They turn and twist unbelievably--apparently following the track of a spotted snake with a tummy-ache; and communication trenches, "boyaux," fork off every fifty feet or so, making a network of passages.
I saw a tube of iron with a star-shaped end which interested me; the lieutenant hastily called out that it was a hand grenade. I had read too many war stories to be inclined to have anything more to do with it, so I passed obediently by; the next minute I caught my foot in some infernal machine and my heart leaped as I wildly clutched at the sides of the trench for support. It was a twisted bedspring.
Near by was an opening twenty-five feet square with dug-outs along the edge, where officers evidently lived. There was a rustic table under a lattice-trimmed shelter, and a flight of birch steps led to the sleeping quarters!
The lavish grass and flowers constantly impressed me. Around the trenches up to the very edges of the shell holes, over the famous strip called "No Man's Land," grows to-day a gorgeous carpet of green grass and wild flowers. I like to think that Nature has already begun to heal the scars of war.
A little village called Suzoy is already known for some rough paintings left on the walls of the main schoolroom, by the Germans. We stopped at the building and followed two little girls through the entrance; they showed us the pictures with pride; and for my part, I assure you, what met our eyes were the most astonishing mural decorations you ever saw.
Two naked figures, half man, half beast, sit opposite each other with faces turned to wink at you. They have horns and tails and the unmistakable Boche cap on their heads. Between them is a roaring fire on which they expect with relish to fry their supper. In their hands are two great peacock feathers which cross and make graceful crescents along the length of the wall. On the feathers are poised--or endeavor to be poised--miniature figures of the heads of the Allied nations. President Poincaré, in frock coat and stovepipe hat, is trying frantically to keep his balance; King George V is sprawling and just ready to fall; King Albert is hanging on desperately by one hand; and the Czar, in ermine robes, is trying wildly to hold on to his crown and keep his equilibrium at the same time. The other kings are all awkwardly trying to keep from dropping off. In the center, directly over the flame is a whimsical Scotch lad, playing his swan-song on a bagpipe. And always the big Boches leer diabolically.
The effect on me was at first to make me laugh, and then to make me rage. So cock-sure, so clever, so insulting! There were other caricatures on the side walls, medallion portraits of George V and Poincaré, but nothing so subtle as the big painting.
The little girls, who had stayed in the village throughout the German occupation, told us that the schoolroom was used as an officers' mess, and that there used to be a great many soirées there. It had taken a month to paint these modern frescoes, and the children had been allowed to watch the artist work.
"Were the Boches nice to you?" I asked one of them.
"Oh, yes, fairly--assez gentils; they taught us a little German, but we never speak it now."
"Did you have enough to eat?"
"But yes, food was brought to us every week by the Americans."
"Mademoiselle is American," put in the lieutenant.
"Tiens!" said the little girl, and grew too bashful to speak.
"We should have died but for the Americans," she said at last, looking down at her apron.
"You had rice and vegetables, I suppose. Did you ever have meat and eggs?" And I confess that for "eggs" I said, not "uh," but "uffe." The other child began to giggle.
"Tais-toi," exclaimed my little friend quickly. "Didn't you just hear that the lady is American?"
It might be hard to express thanks, but not while she was about should Americans be made fun of.
On our homeward journey I saw things that simply did not exist to my eyes earlier in the day. The country around Bailly is full of trenches and barbed wire, dug-outs, shell holes, and shade trees cut down by the road, all of which escaped me before I had had those five full hours of tense observation; and just as I did not at first distinguish the signs of war, so I did not fully consider until afterward the completeness of the destruction we had seen. In the section of forty miles square that we skirted, not one bridge is left--the only ones now in existence are of temporary military construction. The same is true of telephone and telegraph poles--not one remains. Also there is not a stick of furniture of any sort except what was too heavy to be taken away, such as pulpits and big tables, which were hacked to pieces and are of no value now. That the furniture was not blown up with the houses I am sure, for not a piece can be found in the ruins, and I looked carefully for any trace. Germany must be full of French furniture, and what it is all wanted for I can't imagine.
It is wonderful what vistas can be thrown open by the experiences of one day. I never again can hear of any one who comes from Chauny or Roye or Lassigny without seeing row upon row of deserted, ruined houses. I never can hear of a fortune lost in the war without picturing the ruined sugar factory at Flavy-le-Martel. And yet the sight of men and mules and engines clearing out the canal at Ham is more significant than either of these, for it means that the energy which once built the cities of France is deathless. A new beginning is being made within sound of the guns; and we are helping. We are helping!!
ESTHER.
XXVI
FROM MARJORIE
September 12, 1917.
DEAREST FAMILY:--
You could never guess where I am, nor what I am doing! I am just this minute the guest of Mme. la Marquise Molinari d'Incisa, in a large château in Touraine. The other week-end guests--it being Monday to-day--consist of Mrs. W. and her daughter, Mrs. H. Mlle. la Forgue, whom I have written you about before, and who has been so nice to me in Paris, and her brother of seventeen, Mme. Molinari, and Rootie and myself make up the party! Needless to say, Rootie got me into this. I bucked and balked and tried not to come, but I am here. We met Mme. Molinari at Dr. Shurtleff's funeral, and she wanted to know what we were doing, and whether we would like to come down to Touraine and see her. She had a château for the month which belongs to the W----s, who are in America! We more or less jokingly, on my part at any rate, accepted, and she said of course that there was nobody to keep her company, so we would be quite free, and could wear old clothes, and so forth. The next thing I knew, Rootie had accepted definitely, and we were to start from Paris Monday A.M., having arrived from Val André via Saint-Michel the Saturday before. Start we did! I fortunately darned my only silk stockings, and had my sole white skirt laundered, and my beautiful blue linen one also put in order. We left Paris at ten o'clock, and met the La Forgues on the train, which was a shock to us. They told us they thought there were other guests already there! Half-way down, we changed at Vierjon, and when we got off the train (we were in uniform, of course), we heard English-speaking voices calling us, and on turning saw several American soldiers. We waved vigorously and went on, but were stopped by two of them running up and taking off their hats, offering their hands, and saying, "Do you folks speak English?" On our replying that we did, they let a yell, and calling their pals announced that they had "caught 'em, and you bet they can talk the lingo!" We were instantly surrounded, and our baggage taken from us, and we were led like queens to a compartment and sat on the seat while they lined up opposite and shot questions at us as fast as they could talk! I never had such fun. Of course. Mlle. la Forgue thought that we were quite mad, and a bit unladylike, I guess, but do you know I didn't care at all. They were nice men, and they were so pitifully glad to hear some English! They were going on the same train as we were, which was fortunate for us, for I doubt if they would have let us off the train! We got more gossip as to what is going on in the army over here and at home than we would get from the papers in two years! They were all twelve of them volunteer men from the New York Telephone Company and the Western Union. (Their battalion consists of five hundred, of course, but these men were going to Saint-Nojan to drive up some trucks.) The former are receiving their usual wages from the company, with their governmental pay deducted. They seemed a nice crew, strong, hardy fellows, and maybe they didn't have a time getting over here--I mean on the way across the ocean! They have only been here a month, but they have already begun to lay wires from one end of the war zone to the other, all to communicate with Pershing's headquarters, which you probably know has been moved from Paris, and although I know where it is, I won't put it down, not so much on account of the censor as spies! We certainly had a good time. They had taken a first-class compartment, which is against all rules, for the army is supposed to go third class, of course, but they had one forty-four hours' trip in French third class, and have vowed never again. They could none of them speak French, least of all the so-called interpreter, but they knew how to throw out any one who tried to enter their compartment, and did so with joy, saying something about "reservé pour la armée Amèricaine!" We stayed with them till we arrived, and you would have laughed to see them with Mme. Molinari. We had told them that we were going to visit a Marquise, and I think they expected a coronet and pages, and when charming Mme. M. stepped up and talked English with them, and shook hands with them, they could not believe that she was a title! My, it was funny!
After we had waved them off, and wished them luck, we turned to the chateau. It is quite near the station, so a little donkey named Kee Kee carries the bags up, and you walk a short way until you enter the estate. It is beautiful; all shade trees, with a spring you have to cross on stepping-stones, and such ivy and bushes and flowers! There are two houses--the more modern larger one, which has the dining-room and kitchen and library and big bedrooms, and then the old one, dating way, way back, where we are, and which is charming. The W----s put all their time and money into the grounds and vineyards, and the houses are simple and are lovely outside. They are up against the rocks, and the barn or cellar with the winepress is hewn in the rock, and has many underground passages which lead all over everywhere, and you can hear the spring gurgle under them at certain places. There is electric light and most of the comforts; also several dogs and rabbits. The gardens run down the terraces in front of the big house. They are mostly annuals now, and there are fig trees and lemon trees, which supply the lemon for our tea! The brook comes out in all sorts of beautiful and unexpected places, and makes pools. There is a lovely fountain which goes all the time, and which we can hear from our bedroom. The tennis court is hidden by trees and vines, and had just been put in shape so that Rootie and Mlle. la Forgue played this morning. Across the road is the path that leads through a tunnel under the railroad to the fruit garden and vineyards. Such fruit!--all the peaches trained in diagonal lines against a white stone and plaster wall, which has turned greenish from constant sprayings, and the plum trees bent to the ground with fruit, and the apples in rows making hedges like ours at Marion. We ate fruit till we could literally eat no more. The grapes are mostly in houses, and such luscious ones I never saw. We walked through just picking off huge purple muscats with their beautiful bloom still on them, big white ones, and brown--in fact every sort. Each variety tastes better than the one you took before! The flowers do not compare with yours, Mother, but are effective. The usual standards, lovely at a distance, but I can hear you saying they should have been de-budded!
* * * * *
I was, of course, interrupted yesterday, and am now trying to finish while Rootie completes a sketch of our house, and the others get really dressed. We have breakfast at half-past eight, and some of us dress and the rest wear wrappers. As Rootie did not bring one, and had to borrow one which must have belonged to Mr. W----, and mine is that pink crêpe-de-chine affair which Ruth S---- made for me when I was at Farmington, we decided in favor of dressing for breakfast!
I see that I must stop, and go for a walk through the marvelous caves which go through the cliffs for miles around here, and are in part wine-cellars, some belonging to the W----s, and some not. We had wine from the cellar last night, and it was excellent, I thought. Mme. Molinari is renowned even in Paris for her cuisine, so you can imagine whether we are having a good time or not! We had hot biscuits for breakfast yesterday, for the first time since I left home, and they sure tasted good.
We are really having a very good time, for we do just whatever we want to, and although we are not what you would call dressy, still we are at least clean. Rootie, having laughed me to scorn for bringing two waists and skirts, now wishes she had done the same thing herself. (We did not plan to stay more than twenty-four hours.) I am so hoping to find letters from both of you when I get back to Paris, for it is over two weeks since I got any word, although Rootie got a long letter from Mother! Rootie has been more wonderful than ever these last few days. She does fit in wonderfully. She is so very, very clever, and can do everything well, even playing bridge. When they get started on that, I retire to the library and have a delightful time reading everything in sight, and there are lots of books. Did I ask you if you have read "God, the Invisible King," by Wells? I enjoyed it.
Lots and lots of love to you both.
MARJE.
XXVII
FROM MARJORIE
12 Place Denfert-Rochereau, Paris. October 21, 1917.
DEAREST FAMILY:--
You see I am being good this week and not neglecting you as I did two weeks ago. I still get embarrassed when I think of that time. We are hearing all sorts of rumors about no boats going for thirty days, but there is no reason to believe them any more than the many other rumors we hear all the time, so I shall keep on writing, anyway, and nowadays I make a carbon copy of each letter that I send. It does not take any longer, and it seems to me to be well worth while.
Things are about the same here. Very busy. We have finally secured the storehouse and are moving into it this week. The present plan is to have all our reserve stock there, and have only just enough on the shelves to meet the demands during the week. The car will go to the storehouse once or twice a week, and get the necessary things. In this way we will have much more room in the vestiaires themselves, and it will be easier to handle more people. We have just taken stock of our food-supply and find to our joy that it is considerably larger than we realized. This means that we can enlarge that department, and with Rootie there it will be splendid, I think. I hate to let it go at all, and am going just the same Tuesday afternoons, but I know that it will soon be impossible for me to give up that much time. We hope to move ten families a week. This will mean pretty close calculations on time for all of us.
It is wonderful to feel that I may be able to be of some real use to some one for the first time in my life. I have not felt so strong and well and so well equipped for a winter as I do now, for a long time. We have laid in a supply of coal and wood, and are as cozy as can be. I am letting many little petty time-taking jobs slide along to some one else, and am just saving myself for the furniture above everything else. That sounds as if I was not doing any hard work. I truly am. We moved all the things from the store we call Maggi, and which is on Ernest Cresson, a little farther down, over to the rue Daguerre storehouse, and I can tell you it was some job for all of us--piling the things in the car, and then unloading at the other end. Gay Kimberly's husband returned suddenly, so I had to run the car, as Rootie was out calling with a Red Cross man who wants to know the conditions of refugees living in Paris. (By the bye, a Maxwell car with a starter has been given us. I wish it was a Ford, on account of essence, but we must not be fussy, I suppose.)
This morning Rootie started for church early, and got a bath with a friend of hers who lives in a hotel which still has its hot water on Saturday and Sunday! I was, therefore, alone for the morning, and after the washing was counted and put away, and the salon tidied, and the pillows, which had raveled, had been sewn, I decided that I was going to pretend I was at home; so I got dressed as if for Sunday dinner at 378. I put on a nice waist and my pink sweater with the gray collar, which I made myself, and my earrings, and Aunt Sarah's ring. It was really lots of fun. I imagined what I would be doing if I was at home, and who would be there too. Rootie could not imagine what had struck me when she came in and found me all dressed up.
I wonder if it would interest you to hear what we did for one family in the way of moving? Rogeau is the name. We have had them on our cards for quite a long time. It is a small family, a tuberculous man and his wife and little boy. We have been boarding the woman and child out in the country, while the man was in the hospital. This summer the woman came in to see us to ask if we could possibly let her have another month out in the country. We were fortunately able to do so, and when her husband came out of his hospital, he joined her in Saint-Prix, where she was boarding, and together they have found a little house at twenty-two francs a month, for the house and garden. They will each have separate rooms to sleep in, and the woman is most careful about cleaning and all that. Owing to our being able to give them the meubles, they were able to take the house at once, and last week I took out to them a table, two chairs, one stool, plates, knives, forks, spoons, a stove, basin, pail, dishtowels, pitcher, sheets, covers,--and extra nice light warm ones for the man,--pillow-cases, casserole, carpet, bathtowels, coffeepot, small pillow for man, refuse pail, coat-hangers, table-cover, and candle and candlestick (having sent three single beds by express). With these few things they can begin to live, and then they will gradually get more. The man has a little forge in an out house in the garden where he works, and has a chair in the sun. He mends pails and pans. I am giving him a chaise-longue with Daddy's money, so that he can rest in between spells of work. I am so hoping that the air and sun will rebuild him as they have others. You would have been as touched as I was at their joy at the few things we brought them. You see they are really beginning to have their home together again. This is only one of so many interesting cases. Having no income except from the little work he does, they are not paying us anything for the things, although lots of other families are paying. If it is possible, it is so much better for them to pay something.
We are worried just now as to what we are going to do for stoves. There is a great shortage. And the way prices jump up from one week to another!! We calculated two weeks ago that every move costs us well over five hundred francs, with the beds. Now they are much more. Everything goes up two to three francs a week. Beds cost ninety francs for a double lit cage, with mattress and two pillows, where they used to be only seventy last spring. Single beds are fifty-nine instead of thirty-two. Stoves used to be fifteen to twenty-five francs new, and now we pay thirty for old ones and seventy for the new ones. Next week they are to be fifty per cent more, I was told. Lessiveuses are thirty-five, and we have had to give them up, although I hope to change that, and give the few big things and no small things,--forks and knives and all that,--for a family can, after all, save and buy those things, and they never would be able to get either a buffet or lessiveuse. Mrs. H---- pays twenty-five to thirty-five francs for a secondhand buffet now, and she used to get a big, tall, new one for twenty-five. All the small things are about a franc more, pails and all such. Linen is terribly dear. Fortunately, we still have some unbleached linen from America for the sheets. When it goes, I don't know what we will do. They want nine francs apiece for the most slimsy cotton sheets here. I do not quite see what is going to happen if things keep on getting more and more expensive. What will stop it all? And I suppose Germany is richer than ever with her latest gains in Russia. What is going to happen?
Rootie says it is time to go to bed, and I guess she is right. Lots and lots of love.
Your very loving daughter, MARJE.
XXVIII
FROM MARJORIE
12 Place Denfert-Rochereau, Paris, November 14, 1917.
DEAREST MOTHER AND DADDY:--
I hope that you will not worry about our being cold over here this winter. We will not be. First place, we find that we can heat the salon very nicely with a wood fire, and second, we are definitely to have our chauffage central the 15th. We have had hot water once already, and you would have laughed. You couldn't see any one for the two days, for every one was having as many baths as possible. We will have the water right along after the heating begins.