 Chapter 5 Part 1 of 6 Women and the Invasion. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lynette Calkins, Monument Colorado. 6 Women and the Invasion by Gawiel and Marguerite Yerte. Chapter 5, Part 1. We were at home again. This was a set-off for the misfortunes with which a wretched fate had loaded us. The house was as snug as we had left it and we had but to return to our old habits, so we did, and exactly. The cake we had left at our flight was still lying on the table. As we were hungry, we each snatched our share and ate it with ravenous appetite. It was a bit hard, but all the same delicious. We wandered through the house with joy. We were at home again. How many of those who had fled from the invasion had renounced the pleasures of home for months or even years? Some of our friends at Mourney had not yet come back. Yet could we pity them? A thousand times no. At least they would never endure the trials to which the conquered are exposed and which, after a momentary calm, once more had depressed us. The presence of the Germans, quartered in the village, seemed unbearable. Ah, poor snails that we were. In spite of our efforts, the flood had overtaken and submerged us. The tree we tried to climb was too low, the inundation covered everything, and we could not foresee the end of the nightmare. How long should we have to groan and struggle in that all-devouring water? We besought God to deliver us, and God seemed deaf to our ears and blind to our tears. We called to you who were on the mainland over the mountains, insurmountable as the Great Wall of China. Our hearts called to you, and no one answered. For a fortnight the floods had been out, and already we were losing patience. Morally drowned as we were, we still had a physical need for food. A household of seven persons and two dogs must furnish its larder and cellar with abundant provisions. The grocers of the village had but empty shops. Our neighbors were unhumbled because each was the owner of a plot of ground, less favored than the poorest of the poor. We had no crop at all. What would become of us? I have said we had no crop. I was wrong. We even had a superb crop. The pear trees, even those which these last 15 years had yielded no fruit at all, had deemed it a point of honor to do their best in hard times, and were all laden with huge plump pears, which made your mouth water. They were not ripe yet, but determined not to tempt the green uniformed morotters. We made up our minds to gather them. For two days we picked them, and filled basket upon basket with pears, long or round, green or yellow. Then there was the problem to solve where to hide them. We laid our heads together, and by unanimous consent decided upon the deserter's attic. On one side the attic was full of faggots, on the other behind the chimney that comes up from the wash house there was a floor space, about eight feet square, and there we laid our beautiful pears amid shreds of paper instead of straw. To conceal their retreat we heaped up at the entrance old boxes, hencoops, and a garden roller in elaborate disorder. Nobody would ever have thought that this innocent pile of rubbish was a treasure horde, but we, who knew, put one foot here, another there, and at a bound we were on the floor in the very abode of the pears, where cunning paths allowed us to visit our friends and choose the juiciest among them. We never made these visits without a groan, for we always forgot the existence of a big cistern fitted up in the roof, and constantly knocked our heads against this iron ceiling, but the shock itself kindled our imagination and struck out a flash of genius. Suppose we put the wine into the cistern. We thought we had given all our wine to the French soldiers, and then we discovered in the bottom of a box about thirty bottles, which we resolved to hide from the Germans thirst. I must admit that our sobriety equals the camels. We drink hardly anything besides water. A bottle of wine a week satisfies the needs of the whole family, but all the same we did not want our wine to moisten German throats, so through the yard up the ladder over the boxes the bottles went their way. Not too well poised on a tottering scaffolding, I wriggled into the narrow space between the beam and the cistern. I held out a groping hand into which was placed the neck of a bottle, and little by little the receptacle was filled. We went quickly to work. My sister-in-law carried up the bottles with care. I laid them down with a gentle hand, for it is well known that a Prussian ear detects the clinking of bottles a mile off, and of course the Prussian, contiguous to the ear, being far-worn, rests not until he has secured the two imprudent bottles. But all of a sudden I was aroused by a loud shout, instantly hushed to a discreet silence. I jumped down from my scaffold, leapt over the pairs, scaled the boxes, tumbled down the ladder, and found myself in the midst of a perplexed group. Grandmother, what is the matter? Yvonne and Colette, prying in the cellar, had discovered a fair-sized keg which gurgled when it was shaken. The treasure hunters thrust in the bung with an effort, inserted a tap, drew out a glass of the liquor, and brought it to me. What is it? Unxuous yellowish substance. Was it oil or syrup? I looked at it, shook the glass, smelt it, even tasted a drop with the tip of my tongue, and then announced, It is glucose. Glucose. Glucose. And we had no sugar left. Every morning we drank milk and coffee unsweetened by honey. Madame Belaine declared my diagnosis right, and we leaped for joy like marionettes. There was no more meat, no butter, and eggs were uncommonly rare, but sweetened dishes take the place of everything. Baskets full of pears, a keg of glucose, thirty bottles of wine. Who talked of dearth? For truth's sake, I must say, glucose did not answer as well as we expected. When I tried to sweeten the milk with it, the milk turned sour, and with it the experiment also to my shame. On the other hand, by stewing the beloved pears with glucose and wine, I obtained an unforgettable dish over which a jury of cooks greedily licked its lips. And every other evening, for two months, our scanty menu was thus composed. Soup, stewed pears, bread at discretion, fresh water at will. The glucose went to keep the wine company in the cistern, except for a few bottles of either liquid, which we craftily concealed in the garden, and in case of need, we had but to cry out. Puro, go and fetch the bottle that is in the reeds, or in the blue fir, or in the big U. It was much more amusing than simply to go down into the cellar. Thus our life was not uninteresting, but our chief occupation was to watch the horizon, east and south, where our soldiers were fighting. The guns were coming sensibly nearer, we heard them growl day and night, and when it grew dark we saw shells burst above the hills. We spent many hours in the garden looking out for these illuminations, hoping we might understand something from the way they went. Then came the gleam of an explosive, striping the sky with a flash of lightning, or with a slow trail of light. The better to observe, we got up the ladder and sat up on the wall. To the casual passer-by we might have resembled a flock of crows at roost waiting for gossip's tale. Madame Valaine had no taste for these perilous exercises, and contented herself with the stories we told her. For us the only spectacle we thought worthwhile was that very one which almost rent our hearts. How eagerly we wished for the shells to burst nearer, nearer, to set the house in a blaze, so that we might be set free from our chains. About the twenty-fifth of September took place the first shock between us and the German army. It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening. The supper over I went into the garden, and was peering at the dark sky, heedless of the cold wind which caused my hair and my shawl to flutter when a frightful uproar broke the silence. Voices cried out vociferously, heavy boots kicked at the gates, the angry dogs barked till they choked. Good heavens, what is happening? I threw myself down the ladder, fled through the garden, those days were full of wild races, got to the house, and saw Genevieve hasten forth a key in her hand. They want us to open the gate, she said, and we must. Yvonne seized the dogs by the collar and dragged them in. The gate was hardly unlocked when those without threw it open, and at the same time overran the yard. They were furious, and one of them shouted out in bad French. When the Germans knocked at a door, it should be opened immediately. You think so, do you, you bush? On hearing us speak fluent German, they softened and looked at us in amazement. They all had the same round faces, which the lantern of an under officer lit up. They wanted a lodging, barns, stables to shelter men and horses. All that was difficult to get. There is room for but one horse in the stable. Well, that will do for two horses and two men. And here is the wash house. Six men will sleep there. The others withdrew to look for a lodging somewhere else. The remainder, who seemed to be harmless blockheads, were convoys. We heaped a deep sigh, but hardly had a mouthful of air reached our lungs when the yard was already swarming with a new mob. Standing on the steps, I engaged in a parlay with the felt vapor. The house is chock-full, and eight soldiers are already lodged in the outhouses. He was young, big, and stout, and his hard-featured face was deeply scarred. Of course, he did not allow himself to be prevailed upon. It is all the same to me, he answered. Make room for me, if you have none. He ordered me to open the coach house, but when he saw it crammed up with all sorts of things, he made a rye face. And up there, he asked, pointing at the deserter's attic. Good heavens, the pairs, the wine! I was trembling with fear and was at a loss how to answer when the man altered his mind. I would rather have a bedroom to myself. And so saying, he opened Antoinette's door. That will do, said the person, and waving back the silently waiting soldiers he kept but two of them with him. We began to move a few things from the room, which Antoinette had always kept for herself. And before the sergeant's taunting eyes, we carried away clothes, books, and knick-knacks. The door we had left ajar was suddenly thrown open, and a little cockscomb of an officer came in and cried out in a cheerful tone. Oh, oh, two at a time! That was more than we could stand, and leaving blankets and coverlets, we ran away. At the corner of the house, a brutal arm stopped me, and a soldier I hardly saw in the night muttered something I did not understand about money, five francs. I tried to break loose from the man's hold and answered at random, we were no shopkeepers, and sold nothing. If you are busy, he said, another lady would do. In the dim light of a glimmering window, I caught sight of a slovonic featured, black-bearded, sneaking-eyed face that belonged to one of the stable dwellers, a perfect brute. He looked so strange, his voice was so peculiar that I suddenly understood the meaning of his words. Frightened, I shook my arm to get it free, set off running, and got so quickly out of sight he might have believed I had been swallowed up by the night. I rushed into the house, banged the door, turned the key in it, pushed the bolts, and even then I was not sure I was secure. I wished for padlocks, bars, chains, to protect us against such creatures. We thought we would never dare go to bed. With Madame Balaine, I went through the house to test the wooden shutters. In the street, the carts of the convoys stood close to the house. Here and there we saw a lantern glimmer. Lying under the awnings, the drivers tumbled and tossed, and from time to time uttered heavy groans. Those carts reminded us of monstrous beasts, hunchbacked and mischievous, which squatted at our door to watch and threaten us. The yard was pitch dark, all seemed to be in a sound sleep, but for the horses, which kicked and pawed the ground of the narrow stable. The men were snoring. The dogs shut up in the lobby, whined gently. We talked in a low voice and went on tiptoe. In our own house, we felt beset with dangers and cares. Without taking off our clothes, we laid ourselves down. Our eyes wide open, our ears attentive to all outside sounds, our nerves on edge. So we waited for the break of day. The Germans got up at the first glimmer of a misty sun, and we watched them through the trellis shutters. They had cooked a potato soup, a gray and sticky stuff, to which they added some brandy, and which they ate without conviction. For hours together they peeled vegetables, hummed tunes, whistled, dawdled up and down, but they never drew a drop of water from the pump, and they seemed wholly unacquainted with the fact that a human being ought to wash. Then they began cleaning their arms most carefully and deluged them with petroleum and oil. Our amazement was the same, which the sight of wickwams or niggers cabins might have roused, seen for the first time. Their guns, leaning against the gate, confirmed this impression. Real savage's arms, the bayonets were about a hand's breath and notched like a saw. At the mere thought of the wounds such teeth would make in the flesh, an icy chill ran through our veins. About nine, after half an hour's monotonous shouting, the convoy filed off and soon after vanished from sight. As soon as they were gone, we rushed out. The street swarmed with people like an ant hill, which a clumsy foot has trodden on. Well, well, German boot-sleeve traces. The high street of Maunee had never before witnessed such filth. On all sides lay dirty straw, muddy rags, formless scraps of iron. The horse-dung looked clean compared with the rest. As to ourselves, we cried with horror at the sight of our poor yard, into which we could not put our foot. Oily pools stood here and there. The pavement, bespattered with mud, was covered all over with dirty rags, greasy papers, vegetable peelings, and overtopping all the rest, what Antoinette pompously called human dejections. And yet, in a corner of the garden was a closet formerly intended for the gardener, but such people. Disgusted and bewailing, Old Tassan spent the whole afternoon in cleaning the yard and made more than one unpleasant discovery such as about 40 lbs. of rotten meat concealed in the straw. The small room was in a sorry plight. The Pandores had emptied the ink pot into a work table, scribbled the walls all over, broken a vase, taken away a woolen blanket, an Eiderdown, and a door curtain. As to the mattress and the spring mattress, we could not have touched them with a pair of tongs covered as they were with spots of grease. It is agreeable to receive Germans. Antoinette instantly made up our mind to change her room and easily transformed one of the attics. We went roundly to work and the small room was soon as empty as a Pomeranian's head. We had made up our minds that the creatures should bring straw with them if they required hospitality a second time. To the king of Prussia himself we would have grudged a bed, lest he should leave it in as bad a condition as his men. The convoy came back that very evening. Our guests of yesterday went back to their lodging. Only the inhabitants of the small room did not return. Perhaps what was left them of conscience reproached them with the theft. Early in the morning the carts went off, and after three hours' work old tasks and declared, he had removed all traces of their second visit. The whole village complained that the Rascals had not only dirtied whatever they approached, but had stolen what they wanted, wasted provinder and oats, and had thrown down whole sheaves of wheat for their horses to lie on. In the few weeks of the occupation the invaders bled the country to death. In Mwani they took thousands of fowls, hundreds of pigs and sheep, and I don't know how many horses and cows. Mussolanto's black bull, which his ravishers had tethered to a cart and then abandoned in the middle of the road, protested in a wild, fierce and fitful roar that he repeated every other minute for hours together. The farmers dreaded marauders still more than official requisitions. For what was requisitioned they obtained, if they insisted, a note of hand, often scribbled in pencil and almost illegible, but at least proving they had been deprived of something. The soldiers, of course, took an unfair advantage of their victims, who knew not German, and cheated them in every way. We were often asked to translate such IOUs as had been composed according to the writer's own fancy. Paid and carried away a horse, wrote one requisitioner who had but paid with lies. Exchanged two horses of equal worth, another pretended, when a broken down hack had supplied the place of a good mare, received forty pounds of bacon, and the honest customer knew he had gained four hundred fifty kilograms on the pork butcher. In spite of all, the country people attached a great importance to these notes of hand, and the marauders gave them none. They went two or three together, got into the houses when the people were working out in the fields, searched them from top to bottom, and laid hands on what pleased them. They stripped the hen houses and dovecots. They would drop in unawares when the people were about to sit down to dinner, and then divert themselves by seizing and feasting upon the dishes before the balked peasants very faces. Thus, eaten out of house and home, the village would soon be starved. The mare, Amone and Musilone resolved to go to Laos and seek some protection against the raiders. The answer they got from the Germans was that, first, rural matters were no concern of theirs, and secondly, that the people were expected to give everything the soldiers asked for. A word to the wise is enough. Those who have not known the evils of invasion cannot imagine the rage and despair which filled our hearts at being thus enslaved and ground down. Impotent wrath, overwhelming despondency, took hold of our souls at once humiliated and revolted. Like true civilized people we could not understand why we were forbidden to claim justice, to seek redress, why we were expected to yield to brute strength, and there was no use to cry out for help, to crave assistance. It seemed to us that we were forsaken by God and men. But was the trap shut tight? Were we, for instance, whose interests, lives, and dearest affections lay on the other side of the front without means to break through the enemy's barrier? Were we actually prisoners? My mother-in-law made up her mind to go to Laos in order to consult competent judges. I was to accompany her. This poor Laos, which I had seen but a few weeks ago bright with French animation, in what state did we find it? We saw a few civilians only with hard and hostile faces. On the other hand there were a great many gray-clad Germans in the streets with their helmets on, bustling about in the best of humor. They seemed at home everywhere and masters of all the houses. Most shops were shut up. I tried to get into the only one I saw open but nobody was in it. Only in the recesses of the back shop a big hand was busy about a saucepan and heavy steps shook the spiral staircase. It is easy to understand that I had had enough of it and that I hastened out with all possible speed. The sight of their forsaken shops would have rent the hearts of the owners had they been gifted with second sight. One of them, I suppose it was a grocers, had been smashed to atoms. Glass jars, drawers, looking glasses were but things of the past and the floor was covered all over with a litter 20 inches high of biscuits, sweets, macaroni, rice and odds and ends of all kinds. We went to see the mayor and asked him the questions which we were anxious to have answered. Were the Germans to settle in the country? Was it possible to go to Paris? His answer was like a death knell. Nothing was to be done. The Germans were not likely to clear out. He deemed it folly to try to go away. I left the room heartbroken. End of Chapter 5 Part 1 Read by Lynette Calkins, Monument Colorado, October 2019 Chapter 5 Part 1 of Six Women and the Invasion This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lynette Calkins, Monument Colorado Six Women and the Invasion by Gabrielle and Marguerite Yerta Chapter 5 Part 2 We arrived in Mojny just in time to see some German infantry march through the street. They came from the front, and their ill looks filled us with joy. They trudged along with weary faces, and were all muddy and bent as if with old age. Just look at them, we said. Where do they come from? Surely they are beaten men. Is the French army advancing? Colette, hidden behind the curtains, never failed to throw her wishes after the Germans as they passed through the village. Die, die, die. Die, you nasty red-haired fellow. Die, you fat brute. Die, you young whippersnapper. Oh, a wounded man. Die to you wretch. Die to poor wretch. Die, die, die. And the litany drew to a close only when the regiment had filed off. That is to help the French, said she. Many an adventure befell us in the month of October. I can merely refer, for instance, to a certain officer who at eleven o'clock one night wished to lodge twenty horses in our barn. Or to four requisitioners who dragged us out of bed at five in the morning and forced us to dress in haste, merely to prove we had no pigs. These same soldiers, delighted to talk German with French women, tried to convince us that England was responsible for the war. The whole world is against us, they said in a sulky voice. The French, the English, the Russians, the Belgians. But you are so numerous. Not so numerous as all that. I remember also that we were once awakened by two drunken soldiers who insisted upon our opening the window and who at our refusal threatened and vociferated for an hour, promising to come back and set fire to the house. On the other hand, listen to the tragical, horrific history of one afternoon. It was a washing day. The charwoman had forgotten to close the gate. Two or three of us were in the yard when a sergeant and four men made their appearance. Horses were wading in the street. The sergeant was of lofty stature, stupid, grave, blue-eyed, and dark-bearded. He asked us if we could furnish lodgings for Herr Mer and his ten men. The honour was not tempting. We pleaded want of room. We wrapped up our obvious ill-will in a mass of words. Antoinette carelessly pointed at the small room and hinted that we had no other left. The men withdrew, the horses rode away, and we sang songs of victory. But the following morning, about seven, I heard a noisy knock at the door. I hastened out and reluctantly admitted the visitors of yesterday. From the top of his head the sergeant announced that Herr Mer was very cross, furious even, that we declined to receive him. He had sent the Ruffians now to see how many rooms we might place at his disposal. I felt sure anxious ears were listening behind every shutter in the house. The alarm had been given, and the sluggards were making what speed they could. The fellows entered. The family gathered together, scared, and haggard. A few of them were dressed, the others were in dressing gowns. The Germans examined the rooms whose morning disorder had been hastily concealed, went up to the attic, and down to the cellar. The sergeant then pronounced judgment in a solemn voice. We might have offered five bedrooms to the German army. Five bedrooms? And we had but five rooms containing five beds. Where should we have slept? On straw with the dogs? That was a happy thought. And you would have offered Herr Mer that small room overlooking the yard? Herr Mer! As a matter of fact we had offered Herr Mer nothing. But the poor wretch was as much shocked as if we had proposed to lodge the crown prince in a pigsty. Well then, to punish us and to teach us the respect due to Russian officers, we were condemned to take into our house Herr Mer and his ten men. Death like silence. A thunderbolt had fallen and struck us dumb. The soldier went on. Get dinner ready at half past twelve, a table for one in the dining room, for men in the kitchen. At last we found our tongues. You talk of dinner, but we have no provisions to cook. Meat is not to be had at the butchers. You will be provided with meat. We want wine? Champagne. Champagne? We laughed in the face of the man. There is no wine in our cellar. We drink nothing but water. Anyhow, mind you do things properly. This was said in a threatening voice and we made no reply. The sergeant had executed his mission, but he thought fit further to admonish us on his own account. Are you aware that the Germans are unwilling invaders? They did not want to make war. Who wished it? Can you doubt? It was England. Was it? Oh really. And the citizens should be kind to the soldiers who are very well behaved. For instance, we ourselves all come of distinguished families. A private soldier is not necessarily a scoundrel. I know that, Genevieve answered. My brother is a soldier, but as patriots yourselves, you should understand that we are patriots too, and that it is painful for us to receive the enemy. The enemy? The enemy? The sergeant, bounding with rage, struck the pavement with the butt end of his gun. No, we are not the enemies of women and children. We know how to behave ourselves. While he discourced one of the young men of a distinguished family, standing on the staircase, caught sight of my husband's shoes on a shelf, he seized a pair and put one shoe into each pocket. Turning round, he encountered Yvonne's looks, and hastily replaced his spoil. Twice, thinking himself unobserved, he recovered the shoes, but being too carefully watched, he gave it up as a bad job, and his superior officer concluded his speech in these words. If the French went to Germany, the civilians would receive them kindly. Indeed, I was pleased to hear it, but if the German women are ready to give a hearty welcome to our soldiers, and that is quite easy to understand, it does not follow that we ought to deal in like manner with their sons and husbands. We have never pretended to govern ourselves by the fashion of Berlin. At length they went away, and we had but to yield and prepare our saucepans. We would rather have given a dinner party to Gargantua and his family, than prepare food for a German officer and ten men just as German. We went to Madame Tassine in our extremity. She would surely come to our help in spite of rheumatism. The meat, about half an ox, was duly brought, half of it was for soup, half to be roasted. In the wash-house Madame Tassine made a gigantic soup, flavored with a thousand vegetables. In the garden we peeled mountains of potatoes, and prepared two bottles of French beans, which a soldier had brought in, stolen I know not where. Antoinette, uncorking one of the bottles, broke its neck and cut her finger, her blood poured upon the beans. Hurrying to help her, I tore off a bit of my finger. Never mind, get on with the potatoes. At length the work was finished. Huge and lean, wallied and mouthed like a pike, Hermaire arrived with happy nonchalance and seated himself at the table. His attentive servant, for very little would have served him on his knees. Dinner done, Hermaire required tea, and being presented with a teapot he demanded a liqueur to flavor the tea. A few drops of rum were all that was left of an old bottle which happened to be in the dining-room. I took it in, as distant as serious I saluted the intruder. With a smile Hermaire made a low bow. Something like intelligence lit up his pale eyes. He cleared his throat and faltered out. The ladies would be safer in Paris than here. I gave the rum bottle to his servant, removed a hundred miles off, and answered. Certainly, sir, I withdrew. In the kitchen the ten men seemed to be rather constrained. They talked in a low voice, but did not lose their appetite for all that. My mother-in-law stood by, thinking that too many things might have led them into temptation. At last they went away, Hermaire too. His servant informed us that he would come alone to supper, and that he desired eggs and pancakes. With slow steps the officer went down the street. Behind the buckler of our blinds we burst into bitter invectives. Be off you old cut throat, you old scout, you grind the weak, you bully women, you have eaten my fingertip and have drunk the blood of Antoinette, cannibal, man-eater. The cannibal came back in the evening, Edysmal Pate was pleased with the poached eggs and satisfied with the pancakes. Then he smoked his cigar at leisure, and all the while remained unconscious of severe eyes watching him from the garden. Yvonne and Colette made a rye face. The sight of him is enough to make you sick. Fancy, I saw him put a whole egg into his mouth. His glass was covered with grease when he drank. The next day after, another tune was played. At twelve precisely, Hermaire arrived, and calmly declared that, as his servant was out on urgent business, we must have the kindness to wait upon him ourselves. A pretty request, truly. Madame Tassine was nowhere. The omelette, done to a turn, was getting cold in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Hermaire was waiting in the dining room. It was high time that the dish should make the guests acquaintance. I made it my mind. I will take his dinner to the man. Never, you wait at table? And upon oppression? He did it on purpose, of course. I persisted. I assure you, I shall not deem myself degraded, and I promise you the man will feel uneasy sooner than I. So beneath Hermaire's haughty nose I put the omelette of Ian's herbs. To the same nose I presented the roast veal with boiled potatoes, which is dear to all German hearts, and thought I might rest on my laurels. Then I saw that I had forgotten the sauce. Hermaire was chewing dry veal sunk in melancholy. I put the sauce-boat on the table within reach of his hand. I had forgotten this. I am not in the habit. What did I say? Hermaire looked uneasy. He nearly begged my pardon. Indeed, I am afraid I disturb you. Ah, you deigned to notice it? And you might as well have dined at the village in? But you don't think that you and your ten Gormandisers have reduced our stock of vegetables to nothing and swallowed up our last egg? But you have not always an officer at hand to give you information, and so I thought I might improve the occasion. What is the canon? I asked. Which thunders day and night in the south? We have been fighting in Crayon for the last ten days, said he. The battle is said to be coming to an end. Just before we were in fime. Hermaire pronounced fismis. In a dull full tone he bewailed the evils of war. The regiment he belonged to had suffered 40% losses since the beginning of war. He himself felt very ill. He had slept in the open air seven rainy nights running. Had I any kinsmen in the war? Of course, my husband. And I get no news at all from him. That is the worst of all privations. Hermaire nodded assent. These partings were cruel. Fraumair, too, would have given a good deal to accompany Hermaire. As to ourselves, our situation might change for the better. It was, for instance, to our interest that the Germans should advance. The front would then be removed further from us. I answered that we should welcome no such change for the better. But suppose if just the reverse happened, if the Germans were driven back, the front would also remove further, wouldn't it? Oh, no, no. Really, this war was stupid. England delights in making mischief, and the French are mad to enter into an alliance with the English, when another country was so eager to come to an agreement with them. France and Germany would get on well with each other. What then prevents a thoroughly good understanding? A mere nothing, sir. A grain of sand. Alsace-Lorraine, sir. Hermaire shrugged his shoulders. He had forgotten Alsace-Lorraine. His lunch was over. I asked if he intended to come and dine at our house. Again he seemed at a lost what answer to give. Hmm. Hmm. I am not sure. I will let you know. His grey cloak streamed in the air, and Hermaire went away, never to return. Some days after I met him on the road. He bowed very low, and with a smiling face inquired after my husband. The double-faced fellow knew only too well I had not heard from him. But in common politeness I was feigned to inquire also after his help. Hermaire was better, much better. In a week he would be back at the front, and if he happened to hear from my husband's regiment he promised to send me the news. And with many a bow Hermaire smiled himself away, his face was not ever smiling. The peasants were terrified at his way of carrying out requisitions. On the other hand it was rumored that he believed himself sprang from the thigh of Jupiter. I beg your pardon, of Walton, and spoke to no one. The family did not fail to exercise its flippancy at my expense. They asked for the recipe of my feutus to charm Prussians. They urged me to write a treatise on the art of training Germans, and prophesied a fine future for me as a tamer of tigers. I did not mind being scoffed at. Too many cares claimed my attention. Besides, Bahu and Kofol had just appeared in our orbit, but I am anticipating. Our chief anxiety was commonplace enough. The food problem was hard to solve. Fortunately, in spite of direful predictions, bread did not run short at the beginning of the war. Milk we had every day. Though Madame Lantoya had been robbed of several cows, and though children were provided for first, she always gave us some. We had almost forgotten the taste of meat. Butter and eggs, hard to discover, were extravagantly dear, and eggs were as scarce as in Paris at the end of the siege. We had laid by a small provision of rice and macaroni articles of food no more to be found in the shops. But we had decided to keep this reserve for extremities, in case for existence a bombardment kept us in the cellar. We all agreed to live from hand to mouth upon what we could come by. My reflections were profound when, after a half a day's search, I found one egg from which I had to concoct a dish for the whole family. You laugh? A proof that you lack imagination. With a single egg as a base of operations, you can make pancakes, or apple fritters, flour fritters, or bread fritters, or any fritters you like. By the way, I advise the use of Nestertiums. Rose leaves, on the other hand, are rather tasteless. But here is something better. You make some pastry, then beat up your one egg with a glass of milk, a few crumbs of bread, a bit of cheese if you have any. Then you pour the mixture on the pastry, put the hole in the oven, and when it is baked you will find a dish that will feed six women. Oh, we made no complaints, not yet at least. Really, when a menu consists of a potato fricassee to which laurel and thyme have given a zest, artichokes with melted butter and chervil, butter replaced by grease alas, fresh salad and juicy pears, who would not pronounce himself satisfied with such a meal. Marmontel, who loved good cheer, Marmontel in the Bastille, where he so highly appreciated the fare, Marmontel himself would have been delighted with it. The want of light was the worst of our evils. Petroleum was no more to be had, and candles were hard to come by. Linseed oil and modest nightlights grudged us a glimmer by which we gloomily went to bed. Therefore, as soon as the night fell, the fiend of melancholy seized upon us. The dull light spread a gloom over the room we sat in, and from the back corners dark thoughts seemed to rise and grow upon us. So we would rather walk in the garden, or even look out of the window when night fell, than sit at our work or our writing-table. How many hours have I spent leaning out of the window in a nightgown and watching the shells burst? In September and October, just after the Germans' arrival, there were beautiful moonlit nights, worthy to be worshiped on bended knees. Yet I felt an inclination to imitate Salambron and cry to the moon with arms uplifted. Oh, moon, I hate you! You are deceitful, unrelenting and cold, and even the pale glimmer you send us, you steal. There is nothing true but the warm and cheerful sunbeams which give us light in life. You fling your silver arrows where you please, and throw what you choose into the shade. You slip your sly rays into closed rooms, through cracks and chinks. No secret escapes you. You favor illicit love, unpunished crimes, acts of violence, and foul deeds. All those things you feast upon, oh, moon. But your light is never so present. Your caress never so soft as when you shine on a battlefield, on places where men kill one another. You take pleasure in the sight of dead bodies, shriveled limbs, wide-open mouths, features distorted in the weird horror of death. You play on bloody weapons, on dark-mouthed cannon. You pass by the wounded crying for help, by dying men whose death-rattle is unheard, and you smile yourself from the charnel field, glad to leave the victims in the unfathomable shades of night. Moon, I hate you! Everywhere and always you have looked on murderous battles, unbrotherly contests, man matted against man. You saw the formidable army of Xerxes contend with the Greeks. You saw the Roman Empire quivering at the onslaught of the barbarians. But can any sight you have ever witnessed be compared with that which you look down upon today? Europe in arms, cannons spreading death everywhere. Thousands of men killed in the marshes of Poland, on the hills of Galicia, in France, on the plains of Flanders. Are you pleased, oh moon? Moon, I hate you! To shun the moon, to shut out the sound of the guns, I close the wooden shutters, pull down the window, draw the curtains. The cannon are not silent. Chilled with cold and horror, I fling myself on my bed, bury my head in the pillows, creep under my blankets. The cannon still roars, and shakes my bed. I wake up, and the cannon roars louder than ever. To have lived, and have been sometimes careless and merry, we must have been as mad and as blind as the moon herself. But we cannot attain to the moon's insensibility, and that is why our laughter often turns to tears, and humour ends in a sob. Mourney, being near to the battlefield, we naturally saw many soldiers. The village sheltered four convoys at a time within its walls. Officers and non-commissioned officers were billeted on the inhabitants, and we had to bear our share of the common misfortune, and thus Babu and Krafler fell to our lot. Babu and Krafler were two Prussian officers escaped from a toy shop, and carefully wound up before they were let loose from Germany. They always arrived, side by side, with the same automatic stride, the one tall, thin, and bearded, the other short, stout, and Krafler. I must explain that Krafler, in the popular speech of León, means a misbegotten, rickety creature. The name was not well chosen, for the man was a solid, though ugly, but his round, clean, shaven face, his pig's eyes sunk deep behind white lashes, well earned him the nickname. And Babu himself was no adonis. He had a small head, with regular features, a pointed beard, an horrified smile, cheeks seamed with scars. His style of beauty is not that which I commend, but what matters the want of good looks. Babu and Krafler revealed to us beautiful souls. They were two model Prussians. One morning, then, the village constable brought in a smart sergeant, who seemed to have been taken out of a band box, or bows and smiles. The young man asked for rooms, and we dared not refuse him. The contest with Hermayor had been a warning to us. This will do, he said, entering Genevieve's room, and this, passing on to Yvonne and Colette's. He withdrew, still with a smile on his face, giving us full liberty to prepare the rooms and to rail as we chose. Alas, groaned Genevieve, never again shall I like my room, after I have seen a Prussian lull in my bed. To begin with, I said you won't see him, and secondly, I have a just and clear conception of a Prussians method of repose. He stretches himself out as if he were on duty, and his head on the pillow is carefully adorned with a helmet. He is just as proper to look upon as his photograph would be, taken after a review. We hung tasteless chromolithographs in the place of pretty watercolours. We took away all the books, the knickknacks and the papers. Here and there Colette pinned up peacock's feathers, to bring them ill luck, she said. Then both rooms waited with a grim air for the unwelcome guests. Presently the orderlies came in, brought heaps of baggage, got everything ready for their masters and withdrew. An indistinct curiosity prompted us to take an inventory of the riches deposited with us. Yvonne and Colette spat like two angry cats. Look, here isn't it a shame for a single man, two boxes, five bags, portmanteau. Well, if he wants so much to go and fight. Crawfler was more modest, but Babu had certainly imported a whole dressing room from Germany. The day after his arrival he showed off heaps of small brushes in small boxes, small creams in small pots, small scents in small bottles, and photographs and photographic apparatus, electric lamps and refills for these lamps, sporting guns and India rubber cushions, soft blankets and uniforms without number. But he was chiefly remarkable for his defrogged pyjamas of sky blue or Chinese flesh colour. The sight of him must have been affecting when he had on his helmet a way of nightcap. So Babu and Crawfler installed themselves downstairs and we, upstairs. Yvonne settled down in a tiny attic, and Colette slept on a couch in Antoinette's room. I gave Genevieve a share of my own bed in the room which already sheltered the youthful Piero. We were not very comfortable, and what was worse, we suffered from the cold. This requires an explanation. Some time ago a direful rumour had spread about. They have requisitioned a great number of mattresses in Vivez. Now Vivez is a village not far from Mourney. You may be sure they will do the same here, said the well-informed, and so in all houses the beds were only half as high as before, and he was cunning indeed who could say what had become of the missing part. We, for instance, have plenty of mattresses, large, soft elastic mattresses, which would make you wish to be ill and keep your bed, and should the enemy of France rest upon them, that shall never be, we declared. By the unanimous exertion of the whole family, climbing, pulling, pushing, toiling, we succeeded in hoisting up most of these useful objects, and hiding them in the loft under the roof. Every bed was left with one only, when Babou and Croffler intruded themselves into the house. We were hard put to it. One of us made shift with the Palleus, while Genevieve and I slept on a hair mattress. This plan is not to be recommended, unless you choose to mortify your flesh, or to copy the fake ears of India. We could have put up with our uncomfortable bedding, if, to add to our misfortune, the cold had not seized upon us. Our present guests laid their hands upon heaps of blankets, their predecessors had stolen too, and so we had just enough, and nothing to spare. We went to sleep as straight as arrows, one on each side of the bed. We woke up in the morning, twisted into knots, one against the other, like two shivering cats. Despair drove Yvonne from one extreme to the other. Either she lay half-smothered with heat, under an enormous iderdown, or benumbed with cold under a thin cotton blanket. The authors of our hardships tasted the honeydew of sleep, upon beds of down. They knew not that threatening fists were shaken at them upstairs, and that bitter invectives vowed them to extircration. Yet I think that when logs unexpectedly tumbled down, and pieces of furniture joined the dance, they gave a start and felt uneasy. But on the whole, as quiet as there, there, at the viscentandines, they led a happy life. Got up between nine and ten, saw about their convoy, fared well at the village inn, often went shooting, or, if they had a mind, drove out to Léon, came back home to rest awhile, and dressed for dinner. And then about ten, eleven, or midnight, got back into their rooms, and their comfortable beds. I hinted that war conducted in this fashion was not disagreeable. Babu knew that I was laughing at them. But our comrades, who are fighting, do not lead such a pleasant life. I am sure of it. And I think French convoys take their ease too. Well, I hope so. But really, Babu, it was only right that you should live in comfort, for none knew better than how to appreciate it. One day going into return a newspaper he had lent me, I surprised this lover of comforts, seated in an armchair, his feet on the fender, his head resting on a cushion, his back on another, a book in his hand, a lamp behind him. He looked a perfect picture of self-satisfaction, but such delights cannot last forever. The present convoys are going to the front, some people said. Do you hear, Babu, you will go to the front, you will change your carpet for the mud of the trenches, your pleasant fire for an icy fog, the studious light of your lamp, for the red glare of the shells, you will go to the front. They did not go to the front. They were to pass one or two nights in our house, and they stayed a month. The village groaned under the rain of the invaders, every morning the housewives, on their way to the baker, poured out their complaints. Have yours decent manners. Oh, mine are very hard to please. And the gossip began to tell their grievances, for many of these undesirable guests were in truth very hard to please, and their manners were detestable. They wiped their filthy boots on the beds and armchairs, deluged the carpets and floors with water, they burnt the furniture and linen with their cigars, they came back very late at night, generally tipsy, went to the kitchen, searched the larder and sideboard, and cooked an extra meal with the stolen goods. The mistress of the house, deemed herself very happy when she was not aroused from a well-earned sleep, and ordered to go and rattle about saucepans and kitchen ranges. Of course, Barbour and Croffleur would have repudiated such methods with disgust, Barbour and Croffleur peaked themselves on their gentlemanly manners. Barbour and Croffleur were two model Prussians. For truth's sake, I must admit that occasionally they came home after midnight, amably drunk, and, I am a credible witness, danced a jig in the yard. But these are venial sins, and are watchdogs themselves, who from the first day had been hand in glove with the officers, looked indulgently upon such gambles. Gracieuse was even accused of cherishing a guilty passion for Croffleur, having once been discovered, curled into a ball, upon the bed of the gentleman aforesaid, a most improper act for a lady dog, brought up never to enter the house. Another fault was ascribed to Barbour. On the officer's arrival, we had held a secret meeting to discuss the question of lights. At length, we decided to give one candle to each man, having laid by a box in case of emergency. The next morning, we discovered a scandal unheard of. Barbour, his candle, a virgin candle, a white shapely candle. The criminal had burnt it up in a single night, a huge candle which, in the present state of things, was worth its weight in gold. A few waxen tears still hanging to the socket bore witness to the poor thing's death. We put in its stead a dumpy wine, whose loss we should not feel so deeply, and after that he must provide others for himself. He must provide his firing also, as a matter of fact he did, one day the officers demanded fires in their rooms. Very well the charwoman will look after it, but fuel runs short. Barbour wrote at once a note of hand, gave it to the smart bustling sergeant, and the day after, ten sacks of coal were brought and discharged in the coach house. We gazed at the black heap with MVSI's, for we used to do our cooking and warm our rooms with a poor faggot of wood. The officers very well knew that we lacked all kinds of stores, and Barbour asked me once in a roundabout way, if they might offer us some petroleum and sugar. We have just received an abundant supply, he said, and shall be enchanted if you will make use of them. This was a war. This was worthy of reflection. We answered at last, that we would gratefully take their profit goods, on condition that we might pay for them. My sisters in law made a great outcry against this proposal. Never said they, will we receive presents from Prussians. Gently, I replied, to begin with, we pay in cash for their presents. Then our hospitality, forced as it is, is worthy of some recompense. And indeed, it is ridiculous to speak of their merchandise. Is it not stolen goods? Does it not come from our bonded warehouses and stores? Besides, is it not a good deed to help in exhausting their provisions? So petroleum and sugar, flanked with coffee and rice, reappeared in the house, and were highly appreciated by all, in spite of their teutonic origin. But when the officers carried kindness so far as to offer us a hair of their own shooting, they embarrassed us sorely. Though we were not tempted to accept the gift, we thought a denial would offend our dangerous guests. We have too many, Babu said artlessly. Yesterday we have shot a row-buck, seven hairs and twelve partridges in the woods of Bussie. In our own wood. Very well, we accepted the hair. It will not pay for the rent of the shooting, so we feasted upon jugged hair and found the very French flavour much to our taste. Babu and Krafler were two model Prussians. I do not unsay it. I even think I have proved it. But a Prussian is always a Prussian, and the best of the brood will never understand certain things. Is your piano dumb? asked Babu one day. A few dances might have cheered up the house he thought, and the roar of the guns and the clatter of German feet in the street would have been the best possible accompaniment. Another day, this same Babu. To tell the truth, he talked to me with his pipe in his mouth. But you cannot expect much from men brought up in Heidelberg. This same Babu asked me if I would not go for a drive to lay on with him and some fellow officers. It will be a good opportunity for shopping, he said. No? The other ladies will not either? Last week I dared not ask you. Our carriage was too modest. But today we have one of the Prince of Monaco's coaches. Babu still wonders why we refused. Then something still better happened. When the officers had settled themselves in our house, we made up our minds that the Germans should not catch sight of us in the passage, and the order was given. Disappear, and the Germans never saw the pretty faces which swarmed about us. But since I am a married woman and proficient in German, my mother-in-law does not understand a word of it, I had been appointed spokeswoman to the officers in case of need. But one day I suppose the intruders caught sight of a golden head in flight, and Babu asked me. There are young girls in the house? Yes, my four sisters-in-law. Really, we had not the least idea of it. The next day I happened to go into the drawing-room. The blinds were down, and the door was open into the passage. An unaccustomed object was lying on the table. Bless me, it was a box of chocolates. Delicious sweets, no doubt of it. And on the cover, Babu had written in his neatest hand, and best French, sacrifice to the invisible spirits. Everyone came and contemplated the gift, and the autograph with laughter. Then we allowed the poor chocolates to get damp in the dimly-lighted room. They disappeared three weeks after, as mysteriously as they had come. The day of our Prussian's departure, may they lie lightly on Babu's stomach. At last the convoy left Mourney. On the morning on which they were to start, Babu plunged us into an ocean of perplexities, by asking us. You do not mind my taking a few snapshots of your house, do you? Certainly not, sir. I should be very happy if one or two of the young ladies consented to sit at a window, and nobody had prompted him in that. In vain I objected that the hour was early, and that my sisters-in-law got up very late. Oh, it does not matter, said he. We will wait for them. Ask the ladies to get ready, and we will come back in half an hour. Think how nice it would be in a year or two in Berlin, or Leipzig, or Heidelberg, to show a few photographs. Here are a few souvenirs of our victorious stay in France. In that house we led a very happy life. The young ladies whom you see were reluctant hostesses, but the French, breathing revenge, were obliged to welcome us. The whole family was in a fury of anger. Of course it is out of the question to comply with all the wishes of these wretched Prussians. Two days before, Babu had invited his brothers-in-arms to dinner. Upon this occasion he asked us for a tablecloth, a large tablecloth. We took out of its dark hiding place a damask cloth and eighteen napkins. Is that what you want, sir? We wish vases also. Will these do? And we desire flowers. Take some asters from the garden. And then, may I take a photograph of your house? Sir, I cannot prevent you. Will you put a smiling face at the window? No, no, a truce to jesting. Give him a flat denial. But how? Untaking leave, the Germans would certainly try to shake hands with us. That is their way. And we were determined not to shake theirs. Would they take it amiss? More than once, it had proved hazardous to irritate these dangerous guests. Madame Valbeau in Liéville saw her house plundered. Why? She had refused to sew on a button for the officer who lodged in her house. Old Vadois, the confectioner in León, was listening to the tales of his Prussian. The people are not kind enough to the soldiers, the officer said. The French are better received in Alsace-Lorraine than we are. So the French are in Alsace-Lorraine. The old man cried out with a blissful look. Soldiers, take this man into custody. He speaks ill of the Germans, roared the officer, and they threw the poor wretch into a dungeon where he slept on straw. Our neighbour, Pauline Schaard, who is something of a simpleton, was pruning his pear trees one day when he saw his enforced borders making fruitless endeavours to open a fastened door. Not through this one, he cried waving them back with a motion of his pruning knife and pointing to the usual entrance. What now? cried the soldiers. He threatens us. He threatens Germans. Away with him to prison. The culprit was condemned to two months. That is why, on reflection, we hesitate it to offend Babu and Krafler. They had been kind, well-behaved men, certainly. But in the village, they were looked upon as haughty, violent, and hard-hearted. What will Babu say, we wondered, if, when he holds out his large paws, we put our hands behind our backs? Will he send us to prison and put us on bread and water? Will he fasten us to the stirrups of his horse and drag us to Léon, all six in a line? Or will he give some such order as this to the commandant of the village? Should an opportunity come? Billet fifty men on these people. A pleasant prospect, the moment was critical. I made up my mind to brazen it out. There is always, I had quite forgotten this, a cord or rather a cable in all German hearts. And this cord or cable is sentiment. Let us then proceed by sentiment. I advance. My countenance is that of an angel. My eyes are full of melancholy. My voice is honey-sweet. My hair, no, it is not dishevelled, or at least, only morally dishevelled. I began to talk. Of course my mother-in-law had no objection to their taking photographs of the house, but they would permit us not to appear at the windows. The gentlemen would understand our feelings. They were men of heart and intelligence. They had been very kind to us, and we were very grateful to them. But I became animated. But we are at war with you. We cannot help seeing in you the invaders of our country. And I am sure you are aware that certain things are painful to us. You know how hard it would be to your wives and sisters to receive strangers. You cannot wonder at our dealings with you as with adversaries. And I must tell you that every time I see you, I think with an inward thrill of terror. This man may kill my husband. I had done. I wept with emotion. Krafler was gazing at his boots with a shake of his head. Tears stood in Babu's eyes, and through this sentimental haze, he saw his wife receiving French soldiers as to myself. I felt I would soon have to blow my nose. My mother-in-law beheld the scene in silence, waiting to know the effect of my harangue. It proved effectual. Madam, believe me, we understand and respect your feelings. We have now only to thank you for your hospitality and to assure you we shall always remember it. They bowed themselves out of the room, bowed again from the threshold, bowed again in the yard. We heard the gate close behind them, a silence while they took a few snapshots, and then the rolling away of their carriage. They were gone, gone forever, and no hindrances had stood in the way. They had gone, leaving behind six sacks of coal. They had gone even leaving a letter of recommendation for the officers who would take their place. God forbid, I shall ever revile the memory of Babu and Krafler. End of chapter 6 Chapter 7 of Six Women and the Invasion by Greta and Marguerite Yerta This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 7 After the convoy's departure Mourney was empty. The only Prussians left were those who held the lines of communication and a few soldiers at the sugar factory. We walked abroad without meeting the enemy at every turn. In brief we felt at home again. We were all like people crushed by a landslip who recover their breath and take on again their former shape as the earth disappears which overwhelm them. But alas it was out of the question to forget the past. Empty barns, stables and poultry yards deprived of their inhabitants bore witness to the passage of the scourge. Other things also proved that the wind was blowing from the east whence came the all devouring grasshoppers. One morning as I came back from a quest after milk I stood still, struck with amazement and followed the example of the dairy woman in the fable. I looked at the village steeple and could make nothing of the time it proclaimed to the four points of the compass. Old Tassin happened to pass by. Well, Madame Vallin said he, what do you make of this? It is German time up there. We are Prussians now. I lifted up my eyes to the sky and seeing the sun felt easier in my mind. No change there. It was eight, not nine o'clock. Yet they had made fruitless attempts to set the sun by the German time I was sure. That is why I saw officers cast reproachful looks at the sun which dared tell the French time in a territory occupied by Germans. That is why I saw officers cast reproachful looks at the sun which dared tell the French time in a territory occupied by Germans. That was playing them false. That was treason and the sun would ruin it bitterly. A certain regiment passing through Mourney chanced to trust to the village clock and did not reach its goal at the appointed time. The delay was the cause of a failure which put some bigwigs with helmets on into a rage. In short, the village constable was ordered to put the machine right, the German time being the only right time under the sun. However, the departure of our guests set us at ease and the whole village along with us. As the village might not re-victual itself officially, it re-victualed itself by fraud and as much as possible. Now there lives in Mourney a sympathetic drunkard named Durand, fond of quarrelling as he is in his cups, when in a sober state he is a good, kindly soul. He had been invalidated because his hands were twisted by gout and this infirmity rendered him equally unfit for the work of the fields, so he became a tradesman. He deals usually in rabbit skins, scrap iron and rags. His business and stock in trade consist of a box set up on two wheels and drawn by a good-natured yellow dog. Scrap iron may hide a good many things and with a view to present circumstances, our friend contrived to extend his import trade. Far from me to hint that Durand, in ordinary times, snaps his fingers at the gendarmes and laughs at the laws, practices as common in our border department as unseemly everywhere. But he improvised with the war a wonderful cunning, thanks to which he smuggled all sorts of necessary things into Mourney under the Germans' very eyes. In his surprise packet were concealed butter, grease, chocolate, sugar to say nothing of candles. The housewives scrambled for the provisions, which rose almost to the usual level. The weary dog put out his tongue and laughed, for he knew well that we were getting the better of the Germans. He was not the only one to laugh. The peasants, too, laughed in their sleeves when they saw the Germans stock still in the mountains. At the first moment of invasion the people were struck with dismay. The arrogant enemy, sure a victory, seemed to meet with no obstacles. Handsome men, well armed and equipped, ah, there is no reason to laugh at them, said the old women. They thought the situation hopeless, but now it was whispered about. They won't pass the mountains. They won't cross the N. At this conviction their hearts rose, which yesterday had been filled with bitterness. Evidently the invaders had been stopped. They knew not how, but the fact remained. One morning I encountered a knot of gossips in the street. They talked of a new attack on Soissons. Madame Tassin assured us that William had said they must pass and pass. They must. Without stopping in my walk I interjected. And General Powell said that they won't pass and pass, they won't. It was reported that a French prisoner had spoken these words in Léon. Whether General Powell had really expressed himself thus, I don't know, but the Germans gained no more ground. We were sure of that, but it was no less certain that we were caught in a trap, that we could not stir a limb. We had good hopes the trial would not last long. All the same, the situation could not be helped, and we resolved to accept it. In the village things were going tolerably. While the baker's wife, Gallant Sol, made her bread, the work of the fields progressed slowly. They left the beet-truits as long as possible in the earth, expecting that our French would come back before the harvest, which was superb. At length they had to submit to fate and bury the precious roots in vast silos. With us the days crawled by like centuries. It is true that the housekeeping entirely rested with us. It was no use looking for help in the village. Women, who had not a good many children to look after, were working out in the fields. Only Madame Tassin consented from time to time to come and help us. But how many hours, what long evenings, remained to fill for six women shut up in a house? What indeed can you do at home, but dream if you are a hare and sow if you are a woman? We sowed. After Babu's stay a little petroleum was left, which we used with miserly care. At dinner we contented ourselves with the night light, and when we worked only our heads were allowed to come within the circuit of the lamp. We made sets of baby linen for poor little ones who took it into their heads to be born into the world when their fathers had gone off to the war, and had left larder and purse at home empty. We competed with one another in the making of caps and shirts. Yvonne is amazingly clever, and when she has a mind to sow, works no end of wonders in a trice. Our ambition increased with success. We fashioned web-like laces, and our embroidery might have aroused the jealousy of the fairies. Generally we kept silence. Size frequently answered the guns, and if we talked we poured out planks of pity for those who fought, or called up remembrances of happier days. Just think there are people who get letters. We moaned at the thought of our deprivation. Lucky people, they know if their relations are dead or alive. At this very moment there are some who read the papers. Oh rage, oh despair, oh hostile blockade. And there are some people who know the truth. When shall we see a newspaper again? At this very moment some are enjoying nice things to eat. Oh for a tea, Rumpelmeier's. Oh for chocolates from behind. Such memories did but sharpen the thorn of our hunger, and yet we had not lost all the pleasures of life. For instance, do you suppose we had given up tea in the afternoon? By no means. It is highly important that women should swallow something good and hot about five o'clock. Simple toast was the only dainty we allowed ourselves. Well buttered toast with a well-sugared cup of tea is not to be despised. Hold. Toast. Yes, but no butter. The little we had was jealously salted and reserved for cooking. And tea? Do you think tea a native of the Department of the Ain? Tea was no more to be had. Sugar was so scarce that we never ate a single lump without a family council to decide whether it was the proper moment. Fortunately, I found a recipe of my grandmothers at the bottom of my reticule. I requisitioned all the licorice in morning. Madame Lantoise's walnut tree provided us at little cost with a basket full of green, shining leaves. Walnut leaves are like good women. In the long run they may lose their beauty, but they retain their virtue. These leaves then, boiled with licorice, gave us a delicious drink all the winter, which had nothing in common with the pale decoctions we nowadays moisten our throat with at the end of a dinner party. I have been careful to say negligently, this tea is excellent for the complexion. Regularly taken, it would greatly improve the skin and give it a matchless bloom. No one ever missed the afternoon tea. The ceremony indeed was often transformed into a great patriotic meeting, vibrating with despair and lamentations, or with enthusiasm and hope, according to the news of the day. For news we had, though I said we got none, and it was commented upon with passion. Our news, of course, was all unofficial and evil or good rode fast. It spread throughout the country. It floated in the air. It came from every quarter. When I left Madame Lantoise's dairy with a can full of milk, my pocket was also full of news. Likewise if we went to the baker, or if we called on Monsieur Lonnette. The initiated came back in a hurry, called the whole family to gather round, and feverishly told the news. We ended by putting a bell in the dining room, known as the Warbell. If one of us heard anything fresh, she rushed into the room and frantically rang the bell. From the garden, the attic, the bedrooms we flocked, allured by the hope of good tidings. What has happened? What is going on? Marvelous things always happened. Periodically, at least twice a month, neighbouring towns were retaken by the French. You know that cannonade, so violent, simply meant that our soldiers recovered San Quentin. Noyan also was reconquered, I do not know how many times, and La Faire, retaken with bayonets. Once the news really seemed worthy of belief, the Germans had put it up in Léon. La Faire has been in a cowardly manner, retaken by the French. We thought it true. Really now, who would make up such an adjective? The Germans had certainly used it. On inquiry, it was found that the adjective, like the news, had been invented, and the bell had never existed at all. Glorious feats were just as frequent on the front, near us. The route de dam, you know, the French have held it since yesterday, and tonight they have carried the village of Isle. Really, I thought they took it last week. Last week it was a false report. Today the thing is certain, and the Allies think how they worked. 70,000 Russians have just landed at Antwerp. The English are shelling Hamburg. Our northern army is advancing. Yes, it is. Deliverance will come from the north. Ah, the secret of making legends is not lost. Popular imagination invents hundreds of them. But nowadays they cannot live long. Books and newspapers cut their wings as soon as they are hatched, and the poor things flutter an instant and then die. But imagine a corner of the country like ours, perfectly isolated from the rest of the world for some ten years, and deprived of all news, all writings. Suppose a peasant should be questioned long after upon the events of the present war, from their statements you might compose the most beautiful epic poem ever heard, as in the good old time its title would be The Gests of the French by the Grace of God. Frenchmen, my brothers, I know you were splendid. You fought like lions, like the heroes that you are. Your glorious feats are too numerous to be counted. It was our despair not to know them. But in revenge we invented feats for you, fresh ones every day. Once, for instance, the French masters of the stone quarries of Passy made good use of a secret passage, and leaping unexpectedly from out of the ground, flick, flack, flick, spread death and dismay among the Germans. Then like jacks in the box, they disappeared as if by magic. Struck with consternation, the Germans would have thought themselves dreaming had not too many proofs testified to the reality of the brief apparition. And what do you think of the chasseurs à pied? Who, behind a hedge at Malva, planted a forest of poles with a cap on the top of every one. And then, when the enemy with loud cries were in the very act of rushing upon this trap, shot them down to the very last man. And don't let us forget the Africans. Ten negroes from Senegal, you understand, ten sprang out of their trenches on a night as black as ink. Of course we did not know whether negroes were or were not in the trenches. Noiselessly crept along the ground through brushwood and darkness and shouting their war cry, bounded forward into the village of Chamouille. Panics stricken the German soldiers fled while the officers, 17 in number, not one more, not one less, let the Africans cut their throats like so many lambs. The ten negroes lay down once more, flat on their faces and crawling along on their hands and knees, went back to their trenches without a tassel missing from their caps, without a rent dishonoring their large breaches. These anecdotes were our daily bread, innumerable were the villages taken by surprise, the convoys seized, the batteries triumphantly brought in. We were always breathless. Every one of us lent a half skeptical ear to everything that was said and tried to detect a little truth among all this fiction. Who invented or transformed the news? It was difficult to know. Many a time Mr. Nobody Knows who had confided it to Mrs. So-and-So who told it to Mr. Everybody. But, generally the information came from the best sources. If Mr. H., the mayor of Léon, had really said all that was ascribed to him, he had done nothing else but commit the secrets of our army to the office porter or the fruiterer over the way. On the other hand, it is hard to conceive how many secrets our countrymen extracted from their German guests. Speaking of the officers to whom they gave hospitality, they assumed a mysterious air and hinted that, walking delicately, they had elicited from them avowals as mortifying for their pride as encouraging for us. But there was another origin, quite modern, for the news no one wanted to take upon himself. It was no difficult riddle. The news came from heaven. Aviators dropped it. Letters had been picked up here and there, said rumour. Some of them were evidently homemade and were but laughed at. This one, for instance. Friends, take courage. Reinforcements are coming. A touching contrivance of some ingenious liar to cheer up his neighbours. Other messages written in a kind of official style were so precise that they seemed worthy of attention and one of them, known throughout the country as the message of Magni, was for a long time looked upon as authentic by the most competent judges. Oh, we were very credulous and you laugh at us, all of you who read the papers every morning at your breakfast. We were so cruelly crushed by the invaders, so uneasy at hearing nothing, so eager for news which might have been bones for our anxiety to gnaw that we greedily snatched at all the falsehoods we came across and found our mouths a minute after full of sand. Was there no means of encouraging us? Floods of sentimental ink were wasted elsewhere upon our fate but the smallest drop spilt in the Verdandois or the Laenois would have done us more good. We had not deserved thus to be forsaken but we were admirable. I maintain, laying aside all useless modesty, I maintain that we were admirable. Our persons and properties have been given up as hostages. A line was chalked out on the map. It was the part to be sacrificed. In this part we were shut up, bodies and souls with no possibility of shaking ourselves free. We not only suffered it to be so, we agreed to the bargain. We resigned ourselves to hunger, misfortune, oppression. We submitted to see our houses plundered, our forests levelled with the ground, our lands destroyed so that the rest of the country might be safe, the metropolis undamaged, that France herself might be free to recover her power and to prepare her vengeance. Exposed to violence, requisitions, even to reprisals, we did not give way. We wished for victory, never for peace. We thought of France, not of ourselves. But what unbearable pangs did we bear? We laboured under the hope deferred that maketh the heart sick as the Bible says. Sometimes we seem to think the burden too heavy for our strength and impossible to be born any longer. What became of us when in the last days of October the Germans arrogantly announced that they had won a victory at Soissons, that they had broken through and that they were going on to Paris. Paris, Paris. We were heartbroken by it, sunk in desolation. And when thereupon came the welcome message of Magnie, full of excellent things, although scandalously false, should we not have believed it true? Rather than not to have believed it, we should have framed and hung a copy in every house. The message of Magnie made its appearance on all Saints' Day. On coming back from the cemetery we watched the shelling of a French aeroplane which laughed at its assailant, and the smoke of the shells was like small round balls gilt by the sun. The cannon rolled furiously in the direction of Noion and we thought, if they have passed, it is not over there. In the village we heard the good news that everyone whispered in his neighbour's ear, they have not passed, they have been beaten. Oh joy, how lovely is the day and how near is the capital to the Tarpey and Rock. Yesterday we lay on the ground, broken with the shock. Today, lively and drunk with joy, we rush with a bound towards the regions of trust and hope. The best source of news was Madame Lantoise. The kitchen of the farm is a large gay bright room whose painted walls, black and white flags, glittering copper saucepans and cages full of songbirds are pleasant to the eye. A select society was to be met there about five in the evening. To find a seat you had to disturb one of the cats which lay enthroned on all free chairs. To upset a cat is high treason. To remain standing would have looked uncivil. I used to get out of the scrape by taking on my lap, gross blanc, yeah yeah, or belle les masses who seemed to approve of this arrangement. All tongues were let loose. First, we exchanged and commented upon the news of the day. What troops, infantry, cavalry, artillery have been seen in Mourney and its neighborhood, whether there were many of them and which direction they took, whether the trains were loaded with soldiers or ammunition? These were the questions asked and answered. Then we were told what wounded soldiers and prisoners have been brought to lay on and heard what motorcars had traversed the village. Twice the Emperor himself was seen within our gates in an iron-plated car preceded and followed by two cars occupied by soldiers armed to the teeth. Upon this occasion the Prussians of the village posted on both sides of the road had balled themselves hoarse to such a degree that they had been obliged to run to the next cellar in order to moisten their gullets. Hundreds of pairs of eyes, moreover, had watched the sky and discovered aeroplanes, English or French which had been fired at by such and such a battery. The German flying machines had been disporting themselves here or there. The captive balloon, William's sausage had perched above certain points. How many of us had, the night before, observed the signals that came from León or glittered in the mountains. The ears had just as much to do as the eyes. Guns had been fired from this quarter and that. German cannon or French. Ordnance or fieldpiece. In one direction a mine had been fired. In fine weather we heard the sound of rifles or the crackling of metriers. One stormy day the workmen declared that they had heard the French bugles sound for a charge. What a fine harvest of news we gathered every evening. What would we not have given to be able to hand it on to those who might have turned it to good account? When we had gone all over it again there followed a warmly conducted debate. We drew conclusions as to the successes or reverses each side had met with or as to the positions they occupied. But as it is impossible always to be discussing strategy and as we could talk only of the war we fell to telling stories and many of them touched upon our general flight before the Germans and its failure. Monsieur and Madame Lantoise with their son Rene a big lad of 18 had tried to run away too not like ourselves on foot but in a car drawn by two stout horses. The prudent hands of the farmer's wife had heaped up in the bottom of the vehicle two sacks of flour a keg of wine a barrel of salt pork 200 eggs and even 30 bottles of petroleum. No matter wither they would have to go they were thus prepared for any events. The first hours all went well but near Nuvion-les-Vignures the fugitives were overtaken by the French army they were ordered to draw up on the roadside and wait. Night fell the soldiers kept on advancing a cannon happened to break down and got somewhat injured so the weary farmer went to sleep leaning against a post while his wife lantern in hand gave a light to the poor gunners who cursing and swearing did their best to mend the damaged wheel. The stream of men flowed on uninterruptedly till the morning. The good people who had kept out of the way all this time thought the moment propitious to resume their journey. They put the horses too and were about to move forward when they were startled by a loud shout. Fresh soldiers were advancing and they were Prussians. I am sure Madame Lantois said that at this point they were not three miles away from our rear guard. Horses, cart, provisions and even petroleum ogres turn up their noses at nothing were swallowed in a mouthful. The three fugitives despoiled and abashed came back on foot to mourning all whose inhabitants returned to their houses sheepish and downcast. In other places the Germans were not even put to the trouble of despoiling the people who, of their own free will, sacrificed to the newcomers. They mistook them for English soldiers. Infestier, for instance, not far from us the urchins of the village cried out the English are coming and the peasants crowded about them. They had already stripped themselves for the French but all the same they were eager to welcome the Allies and they poured out wine and coffee they offered fruit and biscuits the woman who told us this story after she had shared a whole pail of lemonade among those poor boys who were so hot went to the tallest of the band a man with gold lace and in a very loud voice so that he might understand French the batter said to him well as a reward you will bring us Williams head the man spread out his face in a broad grin and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand answered we know English we Germans Tableau this comical scene had its tragic side in the same village were still two French foot soldiers a kindly soul round to call them come quick there are English soldiers here we are all brothers smiling the soldiers came up you idiots they cried they are Prussians and climbing upon a carriage which happened to stand there they opened fire upon the invaders the Germans replied a refugee was wounded the women screamed all fled and hid themselves of the two courageous soldiers one alas was killed and the other taken prisoner more than once we heard accounts of the fighting from eyewitnesses monsieur and madame robert large landowners of the eye told us how their village had been occupied by the enemy every day German patrols have been seen in the place but one morning the French came back all fell into raptures kissed one another marveled at the return dug up their treasures and kept the day as a feast in the evening the youths of the village went for a walk with the zuaves listening to the warriors' tales and the fiddler of the village played madly the sole tune that he knew the next morning about half past five madame robert looking after the window said to her husband look someone is trying to get in through the orchard gate in truth someone was coming in the Germans had arrived in great numbers they sprang up from all sides our soldiers were ready a close fight took place in the orchards in the gardens in the barns and chiefly in the big yard of the farm at the outset of the skirmish an officer had pushed the inhabitants into the kitchen stay there don't go out the defenders of the village had to fight against fearful odds and yet many Germans seemed to play their part reluctantly some of them took refuge in the barns and hid themselves to avoid the scuffle then a captain came up armed with a kind of whip the leather thongs of which were weighted with tiny leaden balls and with this he vigorously lashed his soldiers until they returned to the hottest of the fight the zuaves fought like lions but they were only 250 against an enemy 10 times superior in number and in spite of their efforts at last gave way another German officer noticing civilians in a room cried aloud with anger and shut them up in an empty cellar for a long time the prisoners heard the noise of the fight going on above their heads and little by little it became less violent and then ceased completely only the third day in the morning were the poor people taken out of the cellar half dead with hunger and cold Monsieur and Madame Robert were still dressed as at the moment of the surprise their naked feet lightly slipped he with a nightcap and white ducks on she in a morning jacket and short petticoats they were not even allowed to go in for a minute to eat a bit of food and take clothes and money it may be supposed that the German soldiers always thrifty had safely put into their pockets all that was worth stealing accompanied by soldiers the poor people had to go on foot to Leon half naked and starved going through chamois said Madame Robert I was so hungry that I ate the potato peelings I found in the street in Leon the prisoners were set at liberty and they went to relations of theirs who did their best to comfort and clothe them such rich people too concluded the scandalised narrator discussions and stories were not the only thing that allured me to the farm I had a secret there the mystery of my life I realised a dream cherished since my girlhood I learned to milk the cows at nightfall I jumped out of my window fled to the warm stable and there strove hard to draw milk from lulots distended udders she was a splendid large horned cow which has since been requisitioned so that her milk might be reserved for his excellency the general so-and-so the good animal mistook me for an awkward calf and looking at me with commiseration endeavoured to lick me tenderly oh we acquired many talents we never had dared to aspire to before the war we soared wood we dug in the garden and everywhere it was the same all tried to make up with their imagination and their work for the many things that were wanting Renée Lantoise contrived an excellent blacking with soot and wax our neighbours grated and boiled their beetroots and so made treacle that they used instead of sugar while a grocer manufactured sweets which were a great success among the urchins of the place and the forest saw more women cutting wood than ever it had seen men when we were dissatisfied with the local products we went off to Léon I think that a longing for movement peculiar to all captive animals chiefly drew us to such adventures Léon may be small and provincial but while you are there it gives you the impression of a town you see tall houses narrow streets and policemen just as you see them in a capital booksellers, chemists and dentists smile at you at every corner of the streets these institutions which civilised people cannot do without are scarcely to be met in morning therefore and despite the uncertain times we lived in we rarely let a fortnight pass without organising an expedition to our county town two or three of us went off accompanied by the anxiety and good wishes of the family and returned home in triumph bringing back good news balls of thread and worsted for our needles and on lucky days a few pounds of provisions thus it was that Yvonne and I went once to Léon on foot the only method of travelling at our disposal with our neighbour Madame Lantoise our shopping done we could not help going in the direction of the agents a big building a sort of agricultural exchange in which French soldiers were being nursed of course we were forbidden to visit the prisoners but by good luck 250 of them were just starting for Germany and we had but to wait a moment for them we saw them go down the flights of steps limping and looking piteous and ill they fell into line on the foot pavement oh what sad happiness it was to see once more their dear caps their red trousers their lively faces when we had met only wooden heads for nearly two months many were too weak to stand and they dropped on benches or on the steps of the staircase a turquoise sat down on the pavement with a far away air mech tube as they were going away we wanted to get something to give them not a shop was open save the chemist over the way we went in to buy cough losangers of all kinds owing to the circumstance the chemist let his whole stock go at the lowest possible price and his wife loaded us with piles of handkerchiefs so he divided our poor gifts right and left a big dark haired lad felt a fine linen with pleasure a handkerchief think these last two months I never had one their guardians did not prevent us from talking to the prisoners but when they caught sight of an officer they sent us rudely away most of the captives had been wounded and taken in the neighborhood of crayon berry orbach and la villa boie they did not complain said they had been pretty well treated but they were unanimous in adding the english are most wretched they are tormented in every possible way presently we saw the english prisoners get down the steps in their turn half a dozen big thin men with worn countenances that moved our pity a stout german under officer thought well to give us his opinion here are the english said he look at their pig heads they ought all to be shot not the french he added to be agreeable only the english we wanted the poor tommys to have their share too as I was threading my way through the crowd and they were stretching out their hands their guardian with a blow of his large claws swept away the boxes of sweets and put them into his pocket amid the laughs of his comrades it was too late to make good the germans mischief for the soldiers were already moving forward the less injured limped quickly away a car drove the others to the station into which no civilian was allowed to penetrate and after many salutations we watched them go to captivity with a sad heart our visits to the county town were not all marked by such incidents one day Ivan was copying in order not to lose a word the official reports in which we read german victory here prussian success there austrian army advancing this way english forces retreating in that one and believing nothing of it she burst out laughing as she traced the news with her ironical pencil a stern looking sergeant came up and announced you not laugh towns people all that true but we laughed all the same everyone laughed at those reports the sincerity of which was doubtful which appeared to us still more false than they were and which yet were the only threads which connected us with the rest of the world fortunately the benevolent germans resolved to keep us informed of what was going on and published a weekly paper at leon the journal de guerre which appeared for the first time in november the purpose of this publication we were told was to let the invaded know the truth about the war oh a german truth of course carefully dressed up for their self-respect prevents our enemy from showing us unveiled so indiscreet a person as truth and the people laughed more than ever they laughed from soisante l'affaire from anisie to mal i must say that the newspaper was according to us if not to the authors ludicrous both in matter and manner it was written in a language closely connected with the french with the knowledge of philology and some application you managed to make out even the obscurist sentences thus after a little practice we succeeded in reading the new idiom quite fluently if we were still unable to appreciate its niceties the first number of this precious periodical was a real poem it was addressed to the high and chivalrous sentiments of the true french nation its authors did not despair of explaining to the french nation that its government and its allies had shamefully deceived it and hoped that it would soon see who was really responsible for the war what humane and disinterested part germany had borne in the whole affair in another article piece was openly hinted at and the author set forth the advantages which france would get if she listened to reason that is if she abandoned the allies and sided with gentle germany and then forgetful of all reserve the germans added that in case of peace the government far from requiring a contribution of war would probably be inclined to build a bridge of gold to france what a good promise we had there as bismarck did in 66 to austria it seemed weakness the profound politician added it was strength if the learned members of the german universities had but attended a common school in france they would have learned that which our lafontaine wrote if we force our talent we shall do nothing with grace maybe they had understood that sweet manners are not congenial to their nature that the voice of the canon alone suits their temper we should not see them propose to france with vows and smiles the fate of vassal that austria had accepted in 66 on the second page the journal de guerre magnified the capture of antwerp and described its consequences in pompous phrases then the author of a small and acid article concerning the relations of france and russia concluded with this sentence as witty as it is nicely turned varus varus give me back my millions and my billions if russia listens to that it is very doubtful this is a literal translation indeed we laughed not a homeric laugh of course stifled laughter may be a tittering rather than a hearty laugh a catching laugh which the enemy might have happened to over here a real laugh all the same we should have felt doubly prisoners if we had not made fun of our jailers and to be prisoners only once was quite sufficient as we knew german we fell upon the papers we came across and bitterly enjoyed the high praises they bestowed on their high deeds they pleasantly jeered at the party colored army of the allies at the negroes who according to them tremble with cold like a leaf tossed by the wind which the prussian libelers added must produce a bad effect in a battle a number of simply sissimus completed our edification the proud german michael was represented spitting his seven foes on his mighty sword the cossacks bullying women and children turn up the whites of their eyes at the sight of a single ulan and fall on their knees in lorraine the german soldiers by way of a charge leave off firing at the french let us keep a few of them to kill with bayonets they say in conclusion an englishman helps his little japanese monkey up the noble oak tree where the german eagle is perched go on he says try to pluck some feathers from his tail end of chapter seven