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 out friends at Morny 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, 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 prayers 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 of 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 neighbours were unhumbled, because each was the owner
of a plot of ground. Less favoured 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 fifteen years had yielded no fruit at all, had deemed it a
point of honour 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 marauders, 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, hen-coops, and a garden roller in elaborate
disorder. Nobody would ever have thought that this innocent pile of
rubbish was a treasure-hoard. 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 camel's. 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
forewarned, rests not until he has secured the too 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 pears, 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?"
Unctuous, 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. Mme. Valaine declared my diagnosis
right, and we leapt 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 turned 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:
"Pierrot, go and fetch the bottle that is in the reeds or in the blue
fir ... or in the big yew...."
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 on
the wall. To the casual passer-by we might have resembled a flock of
crows at roost waiting for gossip's tales. Mme. Valaine had no taste
for these perilous exercises, and contented herself with the stories we
told her. For us the only spectacle we thought worth while 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 25th 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. Gruff 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 knock at a door, it should be opened immediately."
"You think so, do you, you Boche!"
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 but for 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 heaved 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
parley with the _Feldwebel_.
"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 wry face.
"And up there?" he asked, pointing at the deserter's attic.
Good Heavens! the pears! 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 remove 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 coxcomb 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
Slavonic-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 Mme. Valaine I went through the house to test the wooden shutters.
In the street the carts of the convoy 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, hunch-backed 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 tip-toe. 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 trellised shutters. They had cooked a potato soup, a
grey 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 wigwams or niggers' cabins might have roused, seen for the
first time. Their guns, leaning against the gate, confirmed this
impression. Real savages' arms, the bayonets were about a hand's
breadth, 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 boots leave traces. The
High Street of Morny 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 Tassin spent the whole afternoon in
cleaning the yard, and made more than one unpleasant discovery, such as
about 40 lb. of rotten meat concealed in the straw. The "small room" was
in a sorry plight. The pandours had emptied the ink-pot into a
work-table, scribbled the walls all over, broken a vase, taken away a
woollen blanket, an eider-down, 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 her 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
theft.
Early in the morning the carts went off, and after three hours' work old
Tassin 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 provender and
oats, and had thrown down whole sheaves of wheat for their horses to lie
on.
In the first weeks of the occupation the invaders bled the country to
death. In Morny they took thousands of fowls, hundreds of pigs and
sheep, and I don't know how many horses and cows. M. Lantois' 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 I.O.U.'s 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 40 lb. of bacon." And
the honest customer knew he had gained 450 kilog. on the pork-butcher.
In spite of all, the country people attached 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 Mayor of Morny and M. Lonet resolved
to go to Laon 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 civilised 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,
life, 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 Laon in order to consult
competent judges. I was to accompany her. This poor Laon, 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 grey-clad Germans in the streets
with their helmets on, bustling about in the best of humour. 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 grocer's, 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 twenty 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 heart-broken.
We arrived in Morny 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 whipper-snapper. Oh, a wounded man! Die too, 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 awaked 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 waiting 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 Mayor
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
Mayor 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 Mayor that small room overlooking the
yard! Herr Mayor!"
As a matter of fact we had offered Herr Mayor nothing. But the poor
wretch was as much shocked as if we had proposed to lodge the Crown
Prince in a pig-sty.
Well, then, to punish us and to teach us the respect due to German
officers, we were condemned to take into our house Herr Mayor 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 butcher's...."
"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 civilians 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 discoursed, 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 Mme. Tassin 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, Mme. Tassin made a gigantic soup, flavoured with a thousand
vegetables. In the kitchen 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, wall-eyed and mouthed like a pike, Herr Mayor 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,
Herr Mayor required tea, and, being presented with a teapot, he demanded
a liqueur, to flavour 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 Sirius I saluted the intruder. With a smile Herr Mayor
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; Herr Mayor 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 out into bitter
invectives:
"Be off, you old cut-throat! you old scout! You grind the weak; you
bully women! You have eaten my finger-tip and have drunk the blood of
Antoinette! Cannibal! Man-eater!"
The cannibal came back in the evening, ate a small _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 wry 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. Ugh!"
The next day after, another tune was played.
At twelve, precisely, Herr Mayor 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!"
Mme. Tassin was nowhere. The omelette, done to a turn, was getting cold
in the kitchen. Meanwhile Herr Mayor was waiting in the dining-room. It
was high time that the dish should make the guest's acquaintance. I made
up my mind.
"I will take his dinner to the man."
"Never! You wait at table!"
"And upon a Prussian!"
"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 Herr Mayor's haughty nose I put the omelette _aux fines
herbes_.
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. Herr Mayor 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? Herr Mayor looked uneasy. He nearly begged my pardon....
"Indeed, I am afraid I disturb you...."
Ah! you deign to notice it? And you might as well have dined at the
village inn? 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 cannon," I
asked, "which thunders day and night in the south?"
"We have been fighting in Craonne for the last ten days," said he; "the
battle is said to be coming to an end. Just before we were in Fismes."
Herr Mayor pronounced Fismesse. In a doleful tone he bewailed the evils
of war.
The regiment he belonged to had suffered forty per cent 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 kinsman in the war?
"Of course, my husband; and I get no news at all from him. That is the
worst of all privations."
Herr Mayor nodded assent. These partings were cruel. Frau Mayor, too,
would have given a good deal to accompany her Mayor. 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 farther from us. I answered that we should welcome no such
change for the better. But suppose that just the reverse happened? If
the Germans were driven back, the front would also remove farther?
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."
Herr Mayor 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 loss what answer to give.
"H'm, h'm ... I am not sure. I will let you know."
His grey cloak streamed in the air, and Herr Mayor 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
fain to inquire also after his health. Herr Mayor 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 Herr Mayor 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 rumoured that he believed
himself sprang from the thigh of Jupiter--I beg your pardon--of Wotan,
and spoke to no one.
The family did not fail to exercise its flippancy at my expense. They
asked for the recipe of my philtres 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, Barbu and Crafleux 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 Mme. Lantoye 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 cheese, 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 instance, 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 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, flower-fritters, or bread-fritters, or any fritters you
like. By the way, I advise the use of nasturtiums. 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 whole 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
night-lights 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
black 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 worshipped on bended knees;
yet I felt an inclination to imitate Salammbo and cry to the moon with
arms uplifted:
"O 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 and 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 favour illicit love, unpunished
crimes, acts of violence, and foul deeds. All those things you feast
upon, O moon! But your light is never so pleasant, 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, shrivelled
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 maddened 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
to-day? Europe in arms, cannon 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, O 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.