[Illustration: 0227]
One revolts at these terrible pictures and accounts of the ravages of
war in this former peaceful town, now so ravaged by the German army. Its
picturesque town hall with the emblazoned coat of arms below the turret,
where those flocks of white pigeons paraded the coping, cooing in the
sunshine--now a mass of blackened ruin, behind a vast hole in the ground
in what was once the town square, marking where one of the great shells
fell and burst; and the shattered towers of the gray old Cathedral, the
roof of which is gone, leaving the debris filled interior open to the
rainy gray cloudy sky. Where now are the throngs of happy, apparently
care-free peasants who thronged the "place" before the flag-hung old
Town Hall that morning we last saw it in September, 1910?...
The Patron Saints' day--a day dear to the peasants. This festival which
takes place but once a year, is an event in the peasant's life. On this
day he invites his friends and his relatives to his house, each in turn.
In such communities throughout France, where the church still preserves
authority, the priest earnestly endeavors to protect the peasants from
the wiles and temptations of sin--this is one of the few days when
dancing is allowed. Thus in each section of the country or province the
occasion is given a different name, although the circumstances of its
celebration do not differ greatly.
In the North of France the day is known under the name of "La Dricasse,"
in the East as "La Rapport," in Savoy as the "Vogue"; in Touraine as the
"Assemblée"; as the "Ballade" in Poitou; as the "Frairie" in Angoumois;
and as the "Pardon" in Brittany.
The day before the fête, long lines of wagons with peddlers and
mountebanks arrived in the "place" and each took up its station upon a
position marked out with white stones, according to whatever license
has been allotted to the showman at the Town Hall. There was no disorder
whatever, no dispute with the _Sergeant de Ville_, whose word is law.
The wagons were unpacked in the light of flaring naphtha torches under
the excited eyes of the gamins who formed a wondering, pushing ring
about the workmen until driven away by the police.
One may believe that during that night the peasants slept lightly for
thinking of the joys of the feasting and dancing of the morrow. At dawn
of day the chimes in the cathedral awakened them. Soon they thronged the
streets, the men dressed in new blouses, or treasured wedding coats, the
girls all in unaccustomed finery of stiff skirts and Sunday headdress.
All go to mass on a day of this sort as a sacred duty. The old Cathedral
was crowded to the doors with the people; sitting and standing. Late
comers fared badly and remained at the porch. Even there, they knelt
piously at their devotions.
But it seemed to us that the whole congregation was nervously excited
and impatient to be gone. We could not hear the words of the priest's
sermon, but undoubtedly he counseled them to keep sober and to beware of
the attractiveness of sin.
When the Amen was chanted how quickly the peasants left the old church!
How they hastened to the square, where already flags were flying all
about, and where the mountebanks were shouting out the attractions
of their tented shows; where the booths displayed their attractive
collections of brassy jewelry; and the firemen were gathered bravely
in their brazen horsehair-plumed helmets, all ranged about the absurd
diminutive fire pump, two feet in height and mounted on four twelve-inch
scarlet wheels. How innocent, even pathetically ludicrous it seemed, yet
what a charm it all had for us.
Everything was calculated to attract and excite the desires of these
simple people, who know nothing of the luxuries to which free born
Americans are so accustomed.
Here in the open square sharp-eyed Semitic merchants from Paris unpacked
their paniers and heavy cases of cheap clothing, gaudy ribbons and
flimsy varnished furniture, over which the women and girls crowded and
pushed excitedly, fingering their lean purses, containing their hard
earned "francs," and eagerly bargaining for the usually worthless
articles. The "barkers" called out loudly the merits of the shows,
before which, on elevated board platforms, hard faced girls in tights
and motley clad buffoons paraded. Tinsel and glitter never failed to
attract the peasant, and the clashing cymbal and the loudly beaten drum
gives him delight.
Here, before the old Town Hall, built three centuries ago, a modern
moving picture tent was set up, with a large sign over it reading
thus: "Cinema--Américain. Phonograph--Edison. Entree f. 1.50"--but the
peasants did not yet know what this meant and they seemed dubious about
it. The fortune teller, however, was highly successful, and his long
green canvas covered wagon was surrounded by an eager waiting crowd of
women; the men did not seem to care for it.
An itinerant quack dentist, in a magnificently varnished open carriage
hung with flags and diplomas from the "Crowned Heads of Europe," was
extracting "an aching tooth," from the mouth of a frightened boy, who
leaped away from the carriage, as the quack held up the offending tooth
in a glittering forceps before the astonished eyes of the peasants.
Spitting out blood, the boy, holding his jaw in his hands, and
surrounded by other admiring "gamins," went away behind the back of a
cart; following him I was just in time to see him display a bright
new one franc piece to the others who were grouped about him. They all
jumped away at my approach.
"Did your teeth ache badly?" I asked him.
"No, M'sieur, not at all, but he offered me one good silver franc for
it, and _Mère de Dieu_, what would you?--a franc is a franc--and I have
plenty of teeth left!"
In the gorgeous carriage stood the loud mouthed "quack" flourishing the
teeth in the silver plated forceps, and calling for "amateurs" to come
forward and have their teeth out.
There were booths filled with sweets about which the children lingered
most longingly, and others where "fritters" were cooked in evil smelling
grease, which were eagerly bought and consumed in large quantities by
the young fellows and their girls.
The various small inns and drinking-places were filled to suffocation
the whole day long. From the open windows and doors came the sounds of
loud singing, mingled with the raucous tones of barrel organs, and the
jingling of glasses and bottles. There was much shouting and laughing on
the part of the peasants, who on ordinary occasions are serious enough,
if not morose. That night the festival was in full swing. The two large
"merry-go-rounds" with their gaudily painted wooden lions, tigers, and
horses, were whirling about in blazing circles laden with excited boys
and screaming girls, to the groaning strains of large barrel organs,
filling the air with noise. These merry-go-rounds were ornamented
thickly with squares and diamonds of mirror glass, and these made
a magnificent whirling show in the square. There was, too, the town
orchestra vainly endeavoring to play the popular music, and finally
there were some sputtering fireworks, followed by a speech by the Mayor,
and a "retraite aux Flambeaux," consisting of a dozen firemen with oil
lamps, which, preceded by a drum corps, made the round of the adjacent
streets.
After seeing this we returned to our little Hôtel du Nord, for it was
near to midnight, but all night long the festivities went on in the
square, and in the small dancing halls.
We thought it all most quaint, even somewhat pathetic then.
But the act of the aggressor which has swept away this pretty little
town, leaving nothing but blackened, fire-eaten walls, and driving a
simple innocent people into exile is nothing short of a crime against
humanity.
Of the ruin wrought in the neighborhood of Noyon and Lassigny by the
Teutons before they abandoned this part of their line a correspondent
(_Le Matin_, Paris) states that it is difficult to speak without
entering into details of the most sordid character.
What were once charming streets in Lassigny are now covered with masses
of rubbish discarded by the Germans when they plundered the city.
The beautiful old fifteenth century church, which was the Mecca for
thousands of sightseers in times before the war, has been reduced to a
heap of stones. Along the road from Lassigny to Noyon the spectacle of
ruin is the same. Suzoy and many small villages were too far from the
French lines to be damaged by the heavy artillery fire, but they bear,
nevertheless, many traces of the barbarian rage. All furniture that
could not be carried off by the Germans was battered and broken to
prevent its use even for firewood.
Much of it was piled in heaps along the road and burned to ashes. In
some parts of the road the French found carts loaded with household
furniture which the Germans in their haste were unable to move or burn.
Farm implements, curtains, carpets and most of the household goods of
the villages were smashed and in some cases covered with offal.
At Noyon the houses have suffered comparatively little damage. The most
noticeable wreckage was done in the vicinity of the bridges which had
been blown up to prevent and delay pursuit. At some places the Germans
exploded bombs and mines in the middle of the roadway, causing immense
holes and ridges. The Cathedral is ruined; likewise the notable and
remarkable old Town Hall, but the quaint old fountain in the Square has
by some good fortune escaped damage. In March, 1917, on their departure
from Noyon, the Germans delegated a staff of officers to visit the
different banks in the town.
Several prominent citizens were brought along to accelerate the work of
pillage, and the officers compelled the opening of all safes. Even the
minute objects whose chief value lay in sentimental attachment were
taken by the Germans.
Securities, jewelry and silver in the banks, amounting to $500,000
approximately, were taken before the town was evacuated.
M. Poiret, mayor of the village of Pimpres, who was separated from his
family two years ago, and compelled to remain at Noyon, says of his
treatment by the Germans: "The humiliations we had to put up with are
indescribable. During the last few weeks our physical discomforts became
unbearable. There was neither meat, nor coal, nor vegetables, nor fat.
In addition the Germans cut all the mains, so that we had no gas.
They were constantly requisitioning what little we had. They took even
the bells from the ruins of the Cathedral, and the old Town Hall, and
last week the great organ in the church (Sainte Chapelle of the old
Bishop's Palace) was removed.
"We were joyous when we heard that the Germans were preparing to leave
on Friday night. We were told to remain indoors on penalty of being shot
if we stirred outdoors.
"During the night the Germans blew up mines in the streets and dammed
up the river Verse so as to flood the town. The evacuation began the
following night (Saturday) and was finished by daybreak.
"On Sunday at 11 o'clock the sight of French cavalry coming up the
street toward my house was the most 'gorgeous' spectacle I have seen for
more than two years."
During the nights of March 16 and 17, two companies of German infantry
arrived at the village of Ham, where there was a famous château (tenth
century) of the Counts of Vermandois and later of the family of Coucy.
The infantry remained until the following day, pillaging systematically,
under orders of their officers, everything in the neighborhood.
The ancient Château of Coucy furnished them with considerable valuable
booty, and here four officers burned and broke up all the furniture they
could not carry away. The château was in the form of a rectangle flanked
at each corner by a round tower, and with great square towers on the
north and east. The round tower at the northeast angle which rose from
the canal was the work of Louis de Luxembourg in 1490. and was called
the "Tour du Connetable," and bore above the portal the motto of
its founder, "Mon Myeul." Its walls were of tremendous thickness and
strength. The whole lower story was an immense hall of hexagonal form,
and it had a number of strange pits, called furnaces, which were to
be used to blow up the castle in case of capture. In this château many
notable personages had been confined; for instance, Jeanne d'Arc; Condé,
the Huguenot leader; Jacques Cassard of Nantes; and Prince Napoleon,
after his failure and capture at Boulogne in 1840. This great and
historical château they wantonly destroyed; after sacking it they blew
it up with cases of explosives placed in the walls.
The officers took away from their sleeping quarters in the town all
chairs, bed clothing and even the smallest toilet articles. Some of the
soldiers excused their acts to the townspeople by informing them that
all this was done "by order of the Emperor."
General von Fleck, commanding officer of the army corps stationed at
Ham, took everything in the house he occupied from the cellar to the
roof, using a wagon to carry away the objects. "After the wagon had gone
with the last chair in the house, the general found himself in need of
one on which to write a letter, so an orderly was dispatched to get one
at the Mairie."