He told me of many of the horrors, and talked about the wonderful chaplain of his regiment who ministered to the dying boys wherever they fell and who saw to it that the thousands of unburied dead were buried and their identification tags secured. He said that you could tell by looking at a Prussian officer that he would stick a knife through a baby! Then we got to talking about his home in Ohio. When we parted he gave my hand a grip like a vise and said: "You're the first honest-to-goodness American girl I've talked to for fifteen months. I sure won't forget you!" To digress still further, I just want to say that it is a new and I believe quite wonderful experiment, this sending of the right sort of girls to work and to associate with the boys in the army. War is bad. The herding of men in armies is bad. I have never before realized how much men need good women. It is up to us to be good, in all the joyous, efficient, and true sense of the word.
To return to our trip to Paris. After our soldier left us, two nice French women squeezed into our compartment. The train got fuller and fuller. In the corridor a tall English officer sat on his bag and puffed his pipe at us. Next to him three exuberant French poilus half lay and half sat all in a heap, their shrapnel helmets, canteens and packs piled about them. There was much laughter and snatches of song among them, and many winks at the English officer who remained supremely indifferent to them. One of them smoked two cigarettes at a time for our benefit, sometimes puffing one through his nose and the other through his mouth. It was long after dark, and we had had nothing to eat or drink since eleven a.m., and we were all squeezed so tight we couldn't move. At last I offered the officer my large suitcase for a seat, which he accepted. One of the French soldiers sat on it with him, the ice was broken, and we all had a very delightful time till we got to Paris at midnight. A hasty bite at the canteen, and we were rushed to another station and put on the train for Versailles where a hotel was reserved for us. There we have stayed under very damp and cold conditions, going into Paris every day for more conferences, physical examinations, etc. Tomorrow I expect to receive my assignment. I have no idea where it will be.
You should see la Place de la Concorde. All the captured German guns have been gathered there. These great, hideous things fascinate me in a strange way, and I wandered among them the other day examining them. There are hundreds of trench mortars that sent the dreaded "Minnenwurfer"; ugly, chunky guns, peculiarly vicious looking. Around the obelisk are arranged the long-distance guns, their gigantic muzzles pointing in the air. Hundreds and hundreds of guns! As you look toward the Arc de Triomphe the Champs Elysees is lined on both sides with guns close together, all the way. They are all camouflaged, mottled and streaked in green and brown. It is bewildering to look at them. They are the symbol, I suppose, of a great indelible mark in the book of history, which later generations will gaze on with curiosity. But now, one little mortal standing in the presence of those recently silenced mouths, can only shiver and go away. It is too soon.
January 24th.
I have hated to write for the simple reason that I have been having bronchitis. Not serious at all, but I thought a whole ocean between us might make you think it was serious. Really, if I had to be sick, I am lucky to have been here in comfortable quarters with medical care and no one depending on me for work. But it was a nuisance and a delay when I didn't want to be delayed.
I have been out now, yesterday and to-day and am feeling finely. Here in Paris the "Y" has its own medical staff and all its workers are given the best of care. Out "in the field" we come under the army doctor's care. But I don't expect to need any such care. I have received my assignment which is Sémur, somewhere near Dijon. All I can find out about it is that there is mud and that I "shall be on my own resources and initiative a good deal." They must have some confidence in me. Oh, I am so eager to get to work!
It is wonderful to be in Paris just now, even though one must stay indoors. I find the French newspapers intensely interesting and read them from cover to cover. A truly lofty spirit runs through them all. The men who write the editorials are certainly spiritual leaders, public teachers and guides. I keep running across things I want to send to you just to show what an elevating force a newspaper can be. It is because they, with every other industry, have been working for the salvation of their country. And yet—Europe is blind. Never has there been such need for understanding of economics and Christian strength. Thank heaven, some of the leaders of the Peace Conference seem to possess both!
Yesterday I passed one of the "mutilés de la guerre." He had no legs. He was propelling himself by his hands and arms in a sort of bicycle, crossing the street valiantly. A steamer rug decently wrapped around him concealed his deformity. He was in his uniform. The machine struck the curb and stopped. He could not force it over. How happy I was to be there for just that moment! I easily lifted him and helped him over. He thanked me with sweet French courtesy, and he went on, and I went on; but his gentle, thin, suffering face!
One sees almost none of the terrible results of war in Paris. London was far, far worse. I am told that the French Government has provided other places for "les mutilés." Instead, all over Paris are sturdy bands of little "poilus," marching in their extremely supple order. And many times a day squads of French cavalry go clattering under my window. The reserves are being demobilized and they are everywhere.