Part 3

Passing the railway-station, we stopped to make some inquiries, and promptly ascertained all we wished to know from the chef de gare.

In the days of peace there is in France no one more officious than the station-master of a small but prosperous village. Now he is the meekest of men. Braided cap in hand, he goes along the train from carriage door to carriage door, humbly requesting newspapers for the wounded in the local hospitals. "Nous avons 125 blesses ici, cela les fait tant de plaisir d'avoir des nouvelles" ("We have 125 wounded here, and oh! how they love to have the latest news").

In addition to levying a toll on printed matter, he casts a covetous and meaning glance on any fruit or chocolate that may be visible. Before the train is out of the station, you can see the once-busy and in his own opinion all-important railway official vanishing down the road to carry his spoils to his suffering comrades. Railway travelling is indeed expensive in France. No matter what time of day or night, wet or fine, the trains are met at each station by devoted women who extract contributions for the Red Cross funds from the pockets of willing givers. It is only fair to state, however, that in most instances the station-master gets there first.

From the time we left Revigny until we had passed into the Champagne country, upon the return journey from Verdun, we no longer saw a green tree or a blade of green grass; we were now indeed upon the "White Road which leads into Verdun." Owing to an exceptionally trying and dry summer the roads are thick with white dust. The continual passing of the camions, the splendid transport-wagons of the French Army, carrying either food, munitions, or troops, has stirred up the dust and coated the fields, trees, and hedges with a thick layer of white. It is almost as painful to the eyes as the snow-fields of the Alps.

I saw one horse that looked exactly like a plaster statuette. His master had scrubbed him down, but before he dried the white dust had settled on him everywhere. Naturally "humans" do not escape. By the time our party reached the headquarters of General Petain, we had joined the White Brigade. I excused myself to the General, who smilingly replied, "Why complain, mademoiselle? You are charming; your hair is powdered like a marquise." The contrast with what had been a black fur cap on what was now perfectly white hair justified his compliment.

I have never been renowned in my life for fear of any individual, but I must admit that I passed into the presence of General Petain with a great deal of respect amounting almost to awe. The defence of Verdun through the bitter months of February and March by General Petain, a defence which is now under the immediate control of his able lieutenants, General Nivelle and General Dubois, has earned the respect and admiration of the whole world. It is impossible not to feel the deepest admiration for these men who have earned such undying glory, not only for themselves, but for their Motherland.

No one could have been more gracious and kind than General Petain, and in his presence one realised the strength and power of France.

Throughout all the French Headquarters one is impressed by the perfect calm that reigns; no excitement--not even a paper on the Generals' desks--everything perfectly organised.

General Petain asked me at once to tell him what I desired. I asked his permission to go to Rheims. He at once took up a paper which permitted me to enter the war zone, and endorsed it with the request to General Debeney in Rheims to allow me to penetrate with my companions into the city. He then turned to me again and asked me with a knowing smile if that was all I required--for his headquarters were hardly on the direct road to Rheims! I hesitated to express my real wish, when my good counsellor and friend, with whom I was making the journey, the Commandant Jean de Pulligny, answered for me--"I feel sure it would be a great happiness and honour if you would allow us, General, to go to Verdun." General Petain appeared slightly surprised, and turning to me, asked, "Do you thoroughly realise the danger? You have crossed the Atlantic and faced submarines, but you will risk more in five minutes in Verdun than in crossing the Atlantic a thousand times." However, seeing that I was really anxious to go, and that it might be of great service to me in my future work to have seen personally the defence of Verdun, he added smilingly: "Well, then, you can go if you wish, at your own risk and peril." He then telephoned to General Nivelle the necessary permission for us to enter Verdun.

I doubt whether General Petain realises the respect in which he is held in all the civilised countries of the world. Probably he does not yet understand that people would come thousands of miles to have five minutes' audience with him, for he inquired if we were in any hurry to continue our journey, and added with charming simplicity--"Because if not, and you do not mind waiting an hour, I shall be glad if you will lunch with me."

We lunched with General Petain and his etat-major. A charming and most interesting addition to the party was M. Forain, the famous French caricaturist, and now one of the chief instructors of the French Army in the art of camouflage--the art of making a thing look like anything in the world except what it is! He has established a series of schools all along the French front where the poilus learn to bedeck their guns and thoroughly disguise them under delicate shades of green and yellow, with odd pink spots in order to relieve the monotony. Certainly the appearance of the guns of the present time would rejoice the heart and soul of the "Futurists." It was most interesting to hear him describe the work in detail and the rapidity with which his pupils learned the new art. For one real battery there are probably three or four false ones, beautiful wooden guns, etc., etc., and he told us of the poilus' new version of the song "Rien n'est plus beau que notre Patrie" ("Nothing is more beautiful than our country "). They now sing "Rien n'est plus faux que notre batterie" ("Nothing is more false than our battery").

It was M. Forain who coined the famous phrase "that there was no fear for the ultimate success of the Allies, if only the civilians held out!"

I was much amused at M. Forain's statement that he had already heard that a company had been formed for erecting, after the war, wooden hotels on the battlefields of France for the accommodation of sightseers. Not only was it certain that these hotels were to be built, but the rooms were already booked in advance.

It was strange to find there, within the sound of the guns--sometimes the glasses on the table danced to the music, although no one took any notice of that--surrounded by men directing the operations of the war and of one of the greatest battles in history, how little war was mentioned. Science, philosophy, and the work of women were discussed.

The men of France are taking deep interest in the splendid manner in which the women of all the different nations are responding to the call to service. I described to General Petain the work of the Scottish Women's Hospitals. These magnificent hospitals are organised and staffed entirely by women, and started, in the first instance, by the National Union of Women's Suffrage (Scottish Branch). He was deeply interested to learn that what had been before the war a political society, had, with that splendid spirit of patriotism which had from the first day of the war animated every man, woman, and child of Great Britain, drawn upon its funds and founded the hospital units. I explained to him that it was no longer a question of politics, but simply a case of serving humanity and serving it to the best possible advantage. The National Union had realised that this was a time for organised effort on the part of all women for the benefit of the human race and the alleviation of suffering.

I spoke of the bravery of our girls in Siberia; how many of them had laid down their lives during the typhus epidemic; how cheerfully they had borne hardships, our doctors writing home that their tent hospitals were like "great white birds spreading their wings under the trees," whereas really they had often been up all night hanging on to the tent-poles to prevent the tents collapsing over their patients.

A member of the Etat-Major asked how we overcame the language difficulty. I pointed out that to diagnose typhus and watch the progress of the patient it was not necessary to speak to him, and that by the magic language of sympathy we managed to establish some form of "understanding" between the patients, the doctors, and the nurses.

The members of our staff were chosen as far as possible with a knowledge of French or German, and it was possible to find many Serbians speaking either one of these languages. We also found interpreters amongst the Austrian prisoner orderlies. These prisoner orderlies had really proved useful and had done their best to help us. Naturally they had their faults. One of our lady doctors had as orderly a Viennese professor, willing, but somewhat absent-minded. One morning she sent for him and asked him, "Herr Karl, can you tell me what was wrong with my bath water this morning?" "I really don't know, Fraeulein, but I will endeavour to find out."

Ten minutes later he returned, looking decidedly guilty, and stammered out: "I do not know how to tell you what happened to that bath water." "Nonsense!--it can't be very terrible," replied Doctor X; "what was wrong?" "Well, Fraeulein, when I went into the camp kitchen this morning there were two cauldrons there--one was your bath water, and the other was the camp soup; to you, Fraeulein, I brought the camp soup."

We who had worked with the Serbians had learned to respect and admire them for their patriotism, courage, and patient endurance. We felt that their outstanding characteristic was their imagination, which, turned into the proper channels and given a chance to develop, should produce for the world not only famous painters and poets, but also great inventors. This vivid imagination is found in the highest and lowest of the land. To illustrate it, I told my neighbour at table a tale related to me by my good friend Dr. Popovic. "Two weary, ragged Serbian soldiers were sitting huddled together waiting to be ordered forward to fight. One asked the other, 'Do you know how this war started, Milan? You don't?--well then, I'll tell you. The Sultan of Turkey sent our King Peter a sack of rice. King Peter looked at the sack, smiled, then took a very small bag and went into his garden and filled it with red pepper. He sent the bag of red pepper to the Sultan of Turkey. Now, Milan, you can see what that meant. The Sultan of Turkey said to our Peter, 'My army is as numerous as the grains of rice in this sack,' and by sending a small bag of red pepper to the Sultan our Peter replied, 'My army is not very numerous, but it is mighty hot stuff.'"

Many members of the units of the Scottish Women's Hospitals who had been driven out of Serbia at the time of the great invasion had asked to be allowed to return to work for the Serbians, and we were now equipping fresh units entirely staffed by women to serve with the Serbian Army, besides having at the present time the medical care of 6,000 Serbian refugees on the island of Corsica.

General Petain said, smiling, that before the war he had sometimes thought of women "as those who inspired the most beautiful ideas in men and prevented them from carrying them out," but the war, he added, had certainly proved conclusively the value of women's work.

M. Forain expressed the desire to visit the chief French hospital of the Scottish women at the Abbaye de Royaumont. The General laughingly told him, "You do not realise how stern and devoted to duty these ladies are. I wonder if you would be permitted to visit them?"

I consoled M. Forain by pointing out that surely as Chief Camoufler (Disguiser) of the French Army he could disguise himself as a model of virtue (de se camoufler en bon garcon). Certainly this son of France, who has turned his brilliant intellect and his art to the saving of men's lives, would be welcome anywhere and everywhere. I hastened to assure him that I was only teasing him, and added that I only teased the people I admired and liked. General Petain immediately turned to the Commandant de Pulligny--"Please remark that she has not yet teased me."

"Probably because she fears to do it, and has too much respect for you," replied the Commandant.

"Fears! I do not think we need talk of that just now, when she dares to go to Verdun."

In remembrance of your very kind visit in Verdun and of the noble aim you pursue in favour of our wounded and sick soldiers. We have been extrememly honoured that you were so kind to dine with us to-day 26th Juli 1916

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