But the city itself raises a different and a more difficult problem. It is now no exaggeration to say that as a whole it is destroyed beyond hope. Till a fortnight ago large parts of it were not beyond the possibility of repair. Remember that Rheims was not a small town like Ypres or Arras, but a wealthy and dignified community of 120,000 souls, occupying a space equal to one-fifth of that of Paris.
There is now from end to end probably not a single house whose walls are not more or less broken. The northern and eastern quarters were already in ruins. Now the centre of the city is gutted. Of the public buildings the central squares built in the time or after the Counts of Champagne, the cloth warehouses and workshops, the private residences, bazaars and shops, nothing stands but rows of smoking walls, half buried in fallen rafters and masonry.
The Abomination of Desolation
An Episode in France
Dr. Norman Maclean, an eminent Scottish scholar, whose articles from the front have appeared in The Scotsman of Edinburgh, penned this touching picture of the war-devastated Somme region a few days before the Germans again swept over it in March, 1918:
They stood side by side on a heap of rubbish inside the door of the ruined church in the midst of the ruined town—a man and woman garbed in humble, rusty black. The survivors of the erstwhile population were being brought back as shelters were prepared and work provided for them; these had obviously just returned, and had come straight to the church. When they fled before the flood of death, the church stood scatheless, built immovably upon the rock of the centuries. It was a shrine of beauty and a haunt of peace. But as they now stood on the mound of fallen masonwork inside the west door, what they saw was this—the roof lying in an undulating ridge piled on the floor, the sacred pictures torn and tattered; the pillars shattered; the altar buried under a great mass of débris, and a figure of the Christ, uninjured, looking out through the broken arches on the dead town, and on the land beyond, where the white crosses gleam o'er the multitudinous dead.
The man stood motionless, with a face like a mask. But in a moment the woman shook as if stricken by an ague. She turned and stumbled toward the doorway, where there is no door, the tears coursing down her cheeks and a sob in her throat. The man turned and followed her. He took her hand in his, and they walked away with bowed heads in silence. It is strange how the human heart is moved. It was the tremulous face of that black-robed woman, and the lifting of her hands as if to hide the abomination of desolation from her sight, and the stumbling flight from a scene intolerable, that made me feel the horror spread before me. For I saw it with her eyes.
What she saw was infinitely more than what I could see. She had experienced in her own soul that this was holy ground. In happy days of childhood heaven seemed to lie here; she had come hither to be received, in white, into the holy fellowship; hither to be married; hither to dedicate her children at the sacred font. And when the burden of life was heavier than could be borne, how often had she come hither; and as she fell on her knees at the elevation of the Host, the very God seemed to fold her in the Eternal Embrace, and her troubles fled as morning mists before the sun.
And when the war came, and the men went forth, and with them her sons, how often did she come softly to this sanctuary and dip her hand in the holy water at the door and cross herself, and bow toward the altar, and kneel and pray that they might be saved. In and out all day they came then, men and women, and they prayed for their own, and for France, and their prayers were as the moaning of the winds. * * * And now this! Nothing is left. Home and town and children and sanctuary are all overwhelmed in the one flood. And the Christ from the broken pillar gazes upon a perishing world. It is with her as with those of old, who fell under the heel of the oppressor and who cried: "Zion is a wilderness, Jerusalem a desolation; our holy and our beautiful house where our fathers praised Thee is burned with fire, and all our pleasant things are laid waste."