[Illustration: Cathedral at Nancy.]
Practically one-half of the town is in ruins. The military barracks are now used for housing and caring for refugees from all over France and this is done with great system. The expense is figured down to one franc per day for each person. We saw there a children's school, playground, orphanage and Cinema show, and attended church services at which were present several thousand refugees. We could hear the cannon booming during the entire services. Many of the refugees were at work making bags for the trenches and embroidering. We visited the museum and were shown tombs and urns dating back to the Second century. During a luncheon at the Cafe Stanislaus an impassioned address was made by the prefect.
We left Nancy at 2 P. M. for Chalons on the Marne, one of the three important military supply centers of France. En-route we passed a number of ruined villages with scarcely a house left and with but few inhabitants. We passed through Bar Le Duc also, another distributing center. On this memorable part of the journey we skirted three battle fronts, Verdun, Somme and the Marne. We noticed numerous trench soldiers in squads, enroute to and from the trenches.
The discipline of the French army is very much different from that of the English and Germans. The officers and the French soldiers are comrades. The German and French soldiers have no tents, they sleep in their overcoats. I expected that when we got into the war zone we would see tents everywhere, but there was not a tent in sight.
The distance from Nancy to Chalons on the Marne is 108 miles. All this distance we travelled close in the rear of the French army and much of it near the German army. In the early part of the year this ground was occupied by the Germans, being afterwards retaken by the French. We were closest to the trenches when passing St. Miheil, where the famous German salient was still held.
We reached Chalons on the Marne at 10 o'clock on the evening of October 8th, after a busy and most interesting day. We were quartered here for the night and remained part of the next morning. During our stay we could hear the booming of guns continuously, and saw many evidences of military occupation. At this time the Germans had been forced back about thirty miles from Chalons on the Marne, and their shells were no longer feared in this immediate vicinity. The cannon we heard along the greater portion of the route after passing Bar Le Duc must have been French guns, although the German big guns can be heard for fifty miles under favorable circumstances.
At Chalons on the Marne an incident occurred which made a deep impression on me, although it was in itself simple enough. It was my custom to go about much seeking to see whatever was to be seen at all of our stops. Usually I had a companion, but sometimes went alone. On this occasion Mr. Warren, of the Commission, was with me. We had entered the Cathedral of Notre Dame, to inspect its interior and arrived just as a funeral service was ending. It was one of those pathetic funerals, now common enough in France, at which the body is not present, in this case being that of a young man killed in the army and evidently an only son.
The services ended with a procession around the church and this brought the mourners to where we were. We fell in with them, this being our natural impulse and also, we believed, the proper and courteous thing to do, rather than to rudely retire. When the party reached the main aisle, the friends gathered around the father and mother and two daughters, weeping with them and kissing them in the demonstrative way the French have of showing both grief and affection. Before we knew just what to do, the mourners melted away, taking with them the mother and daughters. Mr. Warren also had disappeared and I was left practically alone with the father of the dead boy. He approached me and extended his hand, having perhaps read in my face something of my feelings. He knew no English and I knew no French, but the language of human sympathy is universal. We grasped hands and the only word uttered was my crude "Americaine." None other was needed. I could tell by the pressure of the hand holding mine that my sympathy was appreciated, even though I was from across the seas and an utter stranger, and any doubts I had felt about the propriety of remaining were thoroughly dispelled.
[Illustration: German Trenches Captured by the French.]
Funerals such as this are very frequent in France. Scarcely a family but has suffered its loss, and in some cases several sons have been taken from one home. Among the hundreds of personal cards brought back with me from France, an astonishing number are bordered deeply with black. These are the cards of the most prominent people in the places we visited, the members of the Commission having met few others, and the mourning border on so many of them shows that in France as well as in England, the upper classes have borne their full share of the terrific toll levied by the war.