Part 7 (1/2)
It was not long before I had drawn his history from this village alderman, an Alsatian by birth, and his tales of the war of 1870 helped to wile away the time we were obliged to spend idling along the roadside while our chauffeur repaired our first puncture. The emergency wheel clapped on, we were soon en route again. My companion duly uncovered as we pa.s.sed the monument to the soldiers of the Franco-Prussian War, almost hidden in a lovely chestnut grove, in the heart of the forest of Hartennes.
On the outskirts of Soissons we came upon a squadron of the Ninth Territorial Regiment, resting after the morning exercises. These soldiers much resembled the ”bushy-bearded” creatures whom I had seen guarding the Eastern Railway, save that they were even more picturesque, for most of them wore straw sombreros. As we pa.s.sed the captain on his horse, my companion lifted his hat and the officer replied with a salute.
”A friend of yours?” I ventured.
”No. Never saw him before.”
”But you bowed, I thought.”
”Certainly. He's an officer on duty in time of war, and all civilians owe him that courtesy.”
I liked that and fancied it were old-time urbanity, though often since I have seen it proved that the custom is not obsolete.
A little further on we came to a very jolly squadron, the cooks, who were peeling fresh vegetables and pouring them into immense wash-boilers, which, when filled, two privates seized by the handles and carried towards a big barracks some hundred yards distant.
Presently we hit a cobbled road which must have been a joy to all heavy machines, but which nearly jolted us out of our light vehicle. Patience and good humor were very rapidly disappearing when we rounded a curve, struck the good macadam, and I saw the twin spires of St. Jean rising majestically against the clear blue summer sky.
At our right I noticed the entrance gate to a chateau over which hung a big Red Cross, such as I coveted for my home, and then in a moment we were already in a _faubourg_ of Soissons. It was not unlike the entrance to any other provincial city in ordinary times, save that there were many red-trousered men mixed in with the other population. There were no chains across the road, but four soldiers in uniform mounted guard. We showed _patte blanche_ and proceeded to ask for the Red Cross headquarters.
”Madame Macherez is the president. You must go to her. Cross the city and go out east towards St. Paul. Her chateau is there.”
Naturally we headed straight for our destination, but were stopped every other minute by police who side-tracked us into back streets. The big thoroughfares must be kept clear for the army!
I set down my old friend near the town hall, and told him that I should be returning about noon. If he were ready, I would be glad to give him a lift. Would he meet us in front of the _Hotel du Soleil d'Or?_
He was delighted, and promised to be on time.
We crossed the Aisne; I must say rather heedlessly, little dreaming that in so short a time it would be the object of such desperate and b.l.o.o.d.y disputes--nor so historically famous.
The Chateau de St. Paul sits, or rather, sat back from the road, surrounded by its lovely garden and a high wall. I left my motor and entered the grounds, preceded by a servant who had opened the gate. In a small drawing room I presented myself to a very charming young person already installed behind a desk, though it was scarcely half-past eight, and explained the object of my visit.
”Madame Macherez will be delighted. I'm her secretary, and I can a.s.sure you she will do all she can to further your plans. Would you mind waiting just a few moments? She'll be down presently. You see,” she continued, ”we have been up all night. We suddenly had part of a regiment quartered on us, and the officers who slept here were coming and going most of the time. I beg you will excuse the dust, but they haven't been gone long enough for us to make things tidy. There were twenty here, and two hundred men in the outbuildings which makes quite a _remue menage._”
Just then the president of the _a.s.sociation des Dames Franpaises_ came in.
Madame Macherez, a fine looking, elderly woman with iron-gray hair and clear blue eyes, is the widow of former Senator Macherez. Her keen understanding and wonderful business ability have won her the respect and esteem of two entire nations; both friend and enemy are united in their praises of this wonderful person.
I was not long in explaining my intentions--I could supply sixty beds, with room for the double; would take all the management of a hospital, gladly help with the nursing, but must have a doctor and other professional aid.
Madame Macherez accepted my proposition, knew just the person I needed, and taking off her badge pinned it on to the lapel of my coat and made me a member of her society.
”Now, then, let's get through with the formalities at once. Here is your _carte d'ident.i.te_. You must paste your photo on to it. With that and an armlet stamped from the War Department you will have free access to all the roads and you won't have to be bothered with other papers.
Let us go at once to the city hall, where they will stamp their seal on your card, which makes it valid for your ident.i.ty. From there we must hunt out the colonel in command and get his seal. That makes it valid with military authorities.”
The president's motor was waiting outside the door.
”How long shall we be?”
”Ah, an hour at least.”