Part 3 (1/2)

At the gateway we held out our hands which he took and shook most heartily, renewing his protestations of delight at our visit, and begging us to ”Come again soon.”

”To be happy one must cultivate his garden,” murmured H., quoting Voltaire as we made off down the road. And within a day or two we again had an excellent proof of this axiom when we discovered that Abbe L. still resided in his little home whose garden extended far into the shadow of St. Jean des Vignes.

That worthy ecclesiastic gave over every moment that was not employed in the exercise of his sacred functions to the joys of archaeological research, and was carefully compiling a history of the churches in the arrondiss.e.m.e.nt of Soissons and Chateau-Thierry. He had been our guest at Villiers, and I remember having made for him an imprint of two splendid low-relief tombstones which date back to the 15th century, and were the sole object and ornament of historic interest in our little village chapel.

This history was the joy and sole distraction of his entire existence, and he never ceased collecting doc.u.ments and photographs, books, plans and maps, all of which though carefully catalogued, threatened one day to take such proportions that his modest dwelling would no longer suffice to hold them.

We found him comfortably installed behind a much littered kitchen table in a room that I had heretofore known as his dining room. I was a bit struck by its disorder, and the good man was obliged to remove several piles of papers from the chairs before inviting us to be seated.

”I trust you will forgive this confusion,” he begged, ”but you see a sh.e.l.l hit my study yesterday noon, and has forced me to take refuge in this corner of the house which is certainly far safer.”

”I've had an excellent occasion to work,” he continued. ”Our duties are very slight these days, and the extreme quiet in which we live is most propitious for pursuing the task I have undertaken.”

”But, Monsieur l'Abbe,” we cried. ”What a paradox! And the bombardment?”

”Really, you know, I've hardly suffered from it--except when that sh.e.l.l struck the house the other morning. Of course, the whole edifice shook, and at one time I thought the roof was coming through upon my head. My ink bottle was upset and great streams trickled to the floor.

But Divine intervention saved my precious ma.n.u.script which I was in the very act of copying, and although my notes and files were a bit disarranged, they were easily sorted and set to rights. So you see there was nothing really to deplore and G.o.d has graciously seen fit to let me continue my work. It is such a joy to be able to do so.”

Strange placidity! the immediate countryside for miles around having long since been delivered up to brutal destruction, wanton waste, hideous ma.s.sacre, and a goodly number of the churches of which the pious man was taking so much pains to record the history, were now but anonymous heaps of stone.

All the way home I could not refrain from philosophising on the happiness of life, perfect contentment, and the love of good. My reflections, while perhaps not particularly deep nor brilliant, were none the less imbued with a sense of grat.i.tude to the Almighty, and filled with pity and respect for poor human nature.

It is certain that for such people, the idea of escaping the terrors, the dangers and the sight of most horrible spectacles, had not weighed an instant in the balance against the repugnance of altering life-long habits, or abandoning an a.s.semblage of dearly beloved landscapes and faces.

Naturally enough, a certain number of commercial minded had remained behind, tempted by the possibility of abnormal gain through catering to the soldier; and to whatever had been their habitual merchandise, was soon added a stock of mandolins, accordions, cheap jewelry, kit bags, fatigue caps and calico handkerchiefs--in fact all that indispensable, gaudy trumpery that serves to attract a clientele uniquely composed of warriors.

But, besides these merchants, there were still to be counted a certain number of well-to-do citizens, professors, government employes, priests and magistrates, all simple honest souls who had stayed because they were unable to resign themselves to an indefinite residence away from Soissons, and there was no sacrifice to which they were not resolved in advance, so long as it procured them the joy of remaining.

I accompanied the President of the local French Red Cross Chapter on a visit to a lady who was much interested in an _ouvroir_, and who lived in a splendid old mansion located near the ruins of the Palais de Justice.

The little bell tinkled several times, resounding clearly in the deathlike silence, and presently a young maid-servant made her appearance at a small door that opened in the heavy portico.

”Is Madame at home?”

”Oh, no, Madame! Why didn't Madame know that both Monsieur and Madame left for the seash.o.r.e last evening? Shall I give Madame their address at Houlgate? They've been going there for the last twenty years. They will be back the first of September as usual.”

”How stupid of me,” exclaimed my companion. ”I might have known though. We shall discover what we wish to know from Madame V.”

We found the last mentioned lady and her daughter in a pretty dwelling on the boulevard Jeanne d'Arc. After presentations and greetings:

”You are not leaving town this Summer?”

”Not this season; unfortunately our country house is at present occupied by the Germans, and as the mountains are forbidden, and the sea air excites me so that I become quite ill, I fear we shall have to remain at home, for the time being at least. The garden is really delightfully cool though--we sit out there and sew all day.”

I asked permission to admire the exquisite embroidered initials which both mother and daughter were working.

”I'm so glad you like them. Do you know we found that monogram on an old 18th century handkerchief? We merely enlarged it, and really feel that we have something quite unusual. But my table cloths are well worth it, they were the very last that were left at the Cour Batave. I doubt if any finer quality will ever be woven.”

”Your daughter will have a wonderful trousseau.”