07 - In the Field. In the Field (1914-1915) by Marcel Dupont.

07 - In the Field. In the Field (1914-1915) by Marcel Dupont.  
I have merely tried to make a written record of some of the hours I have lived through during the course of this war. A modest Lieutenant of Chasseurs, I cannot claim to form any opinion as to the operations which have been carried out for the last nine months on an immense front. I only speak of things I have seen with my own eyes, in the little corner of the battlefield occupied by my regiment. 

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter seven of In the Field nineteen fourteen nineteen fifteen.
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
visit LibriVox dot org. Recording by f n H. In
the Field nineteen fourteen, nineteen fifteen by Marcel DuPont, Chapter seven,

(00:22):
Chapter seven, Sister Gabrielle. It was a very dark night.
How were we to find our way about the little
unknown town of Elveding, near which our regiment had just
been quartered. We could hardly make out the low houses
with closed windows and long roofs of thatch or slate,
and kept stumbling on the greasy and uneven cobblestones. Now

(00:45):
and again the corner of a street or the angle
of a square was lit up dimly by a ray
of light filtering through half closed shutters. I went along haphazard,
preceded by my friend b. We were quite determined to
find beds and to sleep in peace. After our four
days fighting near Big Chute, we had been sent to
the rear, ten kilometers away from the line of fire

(01:07):
to get twenty four hours rest. Had arrived at nightfall
and found much difficulty in putting up our men and
horses in the small farms around the town. But no
sooner had they all found places, No sooner had the
horses got their nose bags on, and the kitchen fire
has been lighted, than Be, who was always anxious about
the comforts of his board and lodging, said to me,

(01:29):
there is only one thing for us to do. We
are to rest. We must find a bed and a
well furnished table. I'd rather go to bed an hour
later and sleep between sheets after a good meal, than
lie down at once on straw with an empty stomach.
Listen to me, let us go on to that nice
Belgian town over there, only a few steps further. It
is hardly ten o'clock. It will be devilish bad luck

(01:50):
if we can't find a good supper and good quarters.
We need not trouble about anything else. Let us think
first of serious matters. So we started for the little town,
which seemed to be wrapped in sleep. We knocked at
the doors, but no one opened, No doubt, the houses
were all full of soldiers. No one offered us any hospitality.

(02:11):
In spite of all Bee's obdurations, now beseeching, now imperious,
in despair. I suggested at last that we should go
back to our squadron and lie down by our horses.
But Bee would not hear of it, and still clung
to his idea to have a good dinner and sleep
in a bed. Just then we saw a dark figure
creeping noiselessly along under a wall. But at once went

(02:34):
up to it and caught it by the arm. It
was a poor old woman carrying a basket and a
jug of milk. He said, Madame, madame, have pity on
two poor, weary, half starved soldiers. But she couldn't give
us any information. Speaking in bad French interspersed with Flemish,
she gave us to understand that the little town was

(02:54):
full of troops, and at that hour everybody was asleep.
And what is there in that lane, large white building
where the windows are alight? The good woman explained that
it was a convent where nuns took in the old
people of the country. They could not give lodging to soldiers,
But b had already made up his mind that was
where we were to sleep. Leaving the old woman aghast,

(03:17):
he went with long strides to the iron railing which
surrounded a little garden in front of the convent. I
tried in vain to make him understand that we could
not invade these sacred precincts. Leave it to me, he said,
I'll speak to them. He pushed the iron gate, which
opened with a creek, and I shut it after him.
I felt somewhat uneasy as I followed B, who crossed

(03:38):
the garden with a rapid stride. I felt uneasy at
the thought of his essentially military eloquence, and of the
use to which he proposed to put it. But I
knew too that he was not easily induced to abandon
a resolution he had once taken. True, he did not
often make one, but this time he seemed to be
carrying out a very definite plan. The best thing was

(04:00):
to submit and await the result of his attempt. We
went up three steps and felt for the knocker. Here
it is, said B. And he lifted it and knocked hard.
What a dismal sound it made in that sleeping town.
I felt as though we had just committed an act
of sacrilege. We listened and heard through the door the
noise of chairs dragged over the stone floor, then a

(04:21):
light footstep approaching, a sound of keys and bolts, and
the door was gently opened and held ajar b with
a bow. What we are doing is this, I know,
most unusual, but we are dying of hunger and very tired,
and so far nobody has been willing to open their
door to us. Could we not have something to eat
here and sleep in a bed? The sister looked at

(04:43):
us and appeared not to understand. However, I was more
at ease when I saw she was neither frightened nor displeased.
She was a very old nun, dressed in black and
held in her hand a little lamp which flickered in
the night breeze. Her face was furrowed with deep wrinkles,
and her skinny hand held before the lamp, seemed transparent.
She made up her mind at once. Her face lit

(05:05):
up with a kind smile, and she signed to us
to come in, with words which were probably friendly. This
was a supposition, for the worthy nun only spoke Flemish,
and we could not understand anything she said. She carefully
pushed the bolts again, placed a lamp on the floor,
and made a sign for us to wait. Then she
went away with noiseless steps, and we were left alone.

(05:27):
You see, said B. It is all going swimmingly now
that we have got in. You must leave everything to me.
The flickering lamp lighted the hall dimly. The walls were bare,
and there was no furniture, but some rush chairs set
in a line against the partition. Opposite the door. There
was a simple wooden crucifix, and the stretched out arm
seemed to bid us welcome. A perfume of hot soup

(05:51):
came from the door the old sister had just shut.
I say, said, B, did you smell it? I believe
it is cabbage soup, and if so, I shall take
a second helping. Just wait a bit, I replied, our wager.
They're going to turn us out. From the other side
of the door, by which the portesse had just disappeared,
we heard a voice calling Sister Gabrielle, Sister Gabrielle. And

(06:14):
a moment after the same door opened and another nun
came in, very quietly and rather embarrassed. It seemed to
me she came towards us. Sister Gabrielle, your modesty will
certainly suffer from all the good I am going to
say of you, But I am wrong. You will not suffer,
for you certainly will never read the pages I have
scribbled during the course of this war at odd times,

(06:36):
as I could in bif wax and billets. But I
have vowed to keep a written record of the pictures
which have charmed or moved me most during this campaign,
if I ever survive it, I want to be able
to read them again in my latter days. I want
to have them read by those who belonged to me,
and to show them what kind of life we led
during those unforgettable days. And it is not always the

(06:58):
battles which leave the most lively impressions. How many delightful
things one could relate that have happened outside the sphere
of action. What memories of knights passed in the strangest places,
as the chances of the march decreed, knights of bitterness
during the retreat, knights of fever during the advance, knights
of depression in the trenches, What kindly welcomes, what beautiful

(07:22):
and what noble figures one might describe, Sister Gabrielle, As
you will never read this, and as your modesty will
not suffer, let me tell the story of the welcome
my friend B and I received that evening at the
Covenant of Elveding, Sister Gabrielle came towards us. How pretty
she was in the coief that framed her face, How

(07:43):
large her blue eyes looked. They really were so, but
a touch of excitement made them seem larger. Still. Above all,
she had an enchanting smile, a smile of such kindness
that we at once felt at ease and sure of
obtaining what we wanted. She spoke in a wheat, a
musical voice, hesitating just a little in the choice of

(08:03):
her words, although she spoke French very correctly. The Sister
Superior has sent me to you, she said, because I
am the only one here who can speak French. Monsieurs
let officers welcome. She said it quite simply, and stood
quite straight in her black dress, her arms hanging beside her.

(08:23):
She might have been a picture of other days, an
illuminated figure from a missile. We looked at each other
and smiled, too happy to find so unexpected a welcome.
B was now quite self possessed Sister Gabrielle, he said,
see what a wretched state we are, in our clothes
covered with mud, our faces not washed. Since I don't

(08:44):
know when we have just gone four days without sleep,
almost with our food, and we have never stopped fighting.
Could you not take into weary famished soldiers for one night?
Sister Gabrielle retained her wonderful smile. Without moving her arms.
She slightly raised her two hands, which showed white against
the black cloth of her dress. Those hands seemed to say,

(09:06):
I should like to very much, but I cannot, And
at the same time the smile said, we ought not to,
but it shall be managed. Nevertheless, come, she said, in
any case, we can give you something to eat, and
she took up the little lamp. She went first, opened
the door at the end of the passage, and we

(09:26):
followed her. Delighted, we were dazzled as we came into
this new room by the brilliance of the lamps that
lit it. It was the convent kitchen, how clean and
bright everything was. The copper saucepan shone resplenently. The black
and white pavement looked like an ivory chess board. Two
sisters were sitting peeling vegetables, which they threw into a

(09:47):
bowl of water. An enormous pot on the well polished
stove was humming, its inviting monotone. It was this pot
which exhaled the delicious smell that had greeted us when
we entered the house. The whole picture recalled one of
Bale's appetizing canvasses. The two sisters raised their eyes, looked
at us, and yes, they smiled too. B was feeling eloquent,

(10:11):
wanted to make a speech, but sister Gabrielle hurried us on, come, come,
She said, it is not worth while. They wouldn't understand you.
She opened another door and we went into a small
rectangular room. Whilst our guide hastened to light the lamp
hanging above the table. We laid our kits on the
window sill, our revolvers, shackos, binocular cases and map cases.

(10:34):
And how tarnished and dirty the things were after those
three months of war. We ourselves felt fairly ashamed to
be seen in such a state. Our coats worn and stained,
our breeches patched, our huge boots covered with mud. All
formed a strange contrast to the room we were in.
It was provided throughout with large cupboards in the walls,

(10:57):
the doors of which reached the ceiling. These doors were
of polished wood and shone like a mirror. The floor
was like another mirror, that indicafatible chatterer. Bee gave another speech, sister,
please excuse the costumes of fighting men. We must look
like ruffians, but we are honest folk. If our faces
do not inspire such confidence, it is simply because our

(11:19):
stomachs are so empty, and no one would more resemble
a vagabond than a poor wretch who is dying with hunger.
You will not know us again after we have had
a few words with the pot, which gave us such
a savory smell. As we passed, Sister Gabriel did not
cease to smile. With wonderful rapidity and skill, she opened
one of the cupboards and from the piles of linen

(11:41):
picked out a checkered red and white tablecloth with which
she covered the table. In a moment, she had arranged
places for two opposite each other. Sit down, she said,
and rest. I will go and fetch you something to eat.
B followed her to the door. Sister gabrielle, he said,
we have found a para. But she had already shut

(12:02):
the door, and we heard her in the kitchen, stimulating
the zeal of the other two nuns. In Flemish we
sat down delighted. What a long time since we had
enjoyed such comfort. Everything this seemed designed to charm our
eyes and to rest our minds. There was no noise
in the street, and the convent itself would have seemed
wrapped in sleep had it not been for the voices

(12:23):
in the next room. For the distant roar of the
guns still went on and seemed to make our respite
still more enjoyable. We hardly heard Sister Gabrielle when she
came in and put down the steaming soup before us.
The delicate perfume of the vegetables made our mouths water.
For many days past we had had nothing to eat

(12:44):
but our rations of tinned meat, and all that time
we had not been able to light a fire to
cook anything at all. So we fell too eagerly upon
our well filled plates, be even lost the power of
speech for the moment. Meanwhile, the pretty little sister, without
appearing to look at us, was cutting bread, and then
she brought a jug of golden beer. What a treat

(13:05):
it was. Why couldn't it be like this every day?
In that case, the campaign would have seemed almost like
a picnic. Whilst I was eating. I could not help
admiring Sister Gabrielle. She looked so refined in her modest
black clothes. Her slightest movements were as harmonious as those
of an actress on the stage. But she was nature
in all she did, and the grace of every movement

(13:27):
was instinctive. As she placed before us an imposing looking
omletou lard that rascal bee, who had already swallowed two
plates of soup and four large glasses of beer, began
to maunder dust. Sister Gabrielle, Sister Gabrielle, I don't want
to go away tomorrow. I want to end my days
here with the old people you look after. Look at me,

(13:50):
I am getting old too, and we have been severely
tried by life. Why shouldn't I stay here where I am?
I should have a nice little bend in the old
people's dormitory with nice white sheets, go to bed every
evening on the stroke of eight, and you, sister, would
come and tuck me up. I should sleep and eat
cabbage soup and drink good beer your health, sister, and

(14:12):
I shouldn't think any more about anything at all. How
nice it would be no more uniform to strap up
after a good dinner. No more shacko to squeeze your temples,
no more bullets whistling past you, no more coal boxes
to upset your whole system. And every evening a bed,
a nice bed, and to think about nothing. Hush, listen,

(14:35):
said sister Gabrielle, with a finger on her lips. At
that moment, the noise of the firing became louder. The
Germans had, no doubt, just made a night attack, either
on Big Shoot or Steinstrat, And now every piece was
firing rapidly all along the line. So fast did the
reports follow one another that they sounded like a continuous growl. However,

(14:57):
the noise seemed to be dominated by the reports that
came from a battery of heavy guns long one twenties
two kilometers from Elviding, which made all the windows of
the convent rattle. I shuddered as I thought of those
thousands of shells hurtling through the darkness for miles to
reduce so many living human beings to poor, broken and

(15:17):
bleeding things. And I pictured to myself our prushuns of
Bicshute sprawling on the ground with their teeth set and
their heads hidden. Among the beetroot, waiting until the hurricane
had passed to get up again and rush forward with
their bayonets cheering. Sister Gabrielle had the same thought, no doubt.
She looked, still whiter than before, under a white koif,

(15:38):
and clasping her hands and lowering her eyes, she said,
in a low voice, Mon dieu, mon dieu, it is horrible,
Sister Gabrielle continued the incorrigibile Bee. Don't let us talk
of such things. Let us rather discuss this omelet a
dish worthy of the gods, and the bacon in it,
the savor of which might imperil a saint. Sister Gabrielle,

(15:59):
you tempt us this eve evening to commit the sin
of gluttony, which is most venial of all sins, and
I will bear the burden of it manfully. I kicked
Bee under the table to stop his incongruous remarks, But
Sister Gabrielle seemed not to have listened to him. She
went on serving us similarly, changed our plates and brought
us ham and cheese. B went on devouring everything that

(16:22):
was put before him, but this did not stop his divigations.
Tell me, Sister Gabrielle. You are not going to turn
us out of the house, now, are you. It would
be an offense against God, who commands us to pity travelers,
and we are poor, wretched travelers. If you drive us away,
we shall have to sleep on the grass by the roadside,
with stones for our pillows. No, you couldn't treat us

(16:43):
so cruelly. I feel sure that in a few minutes
you will show me the bed in the dormitory you
will keep for me when I come to take up
my quarters with you after the war. Sister Gabrielle smiled
had disappeared for the first time. She seemed really distressed.
She stopped in front of b and looked at him
with her large, clear eyes. She made the same gesture
as before, lifted up both of her hands in token

(17:06):
of powerlessness, and seemed to be thinking how she could
avoid hurting our feelings. Then she said, in a disheartened tone,
but we have not a single spare bed. A long
silence followed this sentence, which seemed to plunge Bee into despair.
The guns continued their ominous booming, making the windows rattle terribly.

(17:27):
I too, now thought that it would be dreadful to
leave the house and go look for our troops in
the dark, and put our men in the inconvenience of
making room for us on their straw. So I too
looked at Sister Gabrielle imploringly. All at once she seemed
to have decided what to do. She began by opening
one of the cupboards in the wall, took out of
it two small glasses with long tapering stems, and placed

(17:49):
them before us with a goodly bottle of Holland's. She
had recovered her exquisite smile, and she hurried, for she
seemed anxious to put her idea into execution. There, drink
it's good Holloy, and we give it to our poor
old people on festivals. Thank you, sister, thank you. But
she had already run out of the room, and we
were left there, happy enough, sipping our glass of Hollands

(18:11):
and enjoying the luxurious peace that surrounded us. The gums
seemed to be further off. We only heard a distant
growling in the direction of EAPs. Our eyelids began to droop,
and there was almost a pleasure to feel the weariness
of our limbs and heads. For now we felt that
Sister Gabrielle would not send us away. She came back
into the room with a candle in her hand. Come,

(18:33):
she said. She was now quite rosy and seemed ashamed,
as though she were committing a fault. We followed her, enchanted,
and went back through the kitchen, now dark and deserted.
The flickering light of the candle was reflected here and
there on the curves of the copper pots and glass bowls.
The house was sleeping. We crossed the hall and went

(18:53):
up a broad wooden staircase, polished and shining. What a
strange party we were. The youthful sister going in front,
treading so softly, and we two soldiers, dusty, tattered and squalid,
trying to make as little noise as possible with our
heavy hob nailed boots. The nun's rosary clicked at each
step against a bundle of keys that hung from her girdle.

(19:15):
I was walking last, and enjoying the curious picture. The
light fell only on Sister Gabrielle as she turned on
the landing. The feeble ray from below threw her delicate
features into relief, her fine nose, her childish mouth with
its constant smile. Our own shadows appeared upon the wall
in fantastic shapes. Certainly we had never received so strange

(19:36):
and unexpected a welcome. We passed a high oak door
surmounted by a cross and a pediment with Latin inscription.
Sister Gabrielle crossed herself and bowed her head. The chapel,
she said in a low voice, and she went quickly
on to the accompaniment of her clinking rosary keys. As
we began to go up the second flight of stairs,

(19:57):
b resumed his monolog in a whisper. Sister Gabrielle, Sister Gabrielle,
you are an angel from Paradise. Surely God can refuse
you nothing. You will pray for me this evening, won't you?
For I am a great sinner. Oh yes, of course
I shall pray for you, she answered softly, as she
turned towards us. We came out on a long passage,

(20:18):
bare and whitewashed. Half a dozen doors could be distinguished
at regular intervals, all alike. Sister Gabrielle opened one of them,
and we followed her in. We found ourselves in a
small room, austerely furnished with two little iron bedsteads, two
little deal tables and two rush chairs. Above each bed
there was a crucifix with a branch of box attached

(20:40):
to it. Each table had a tiny white basin and
a little tiny water jug. All this was very nice
and amply sufficient for us. Everything was clean, bright and polished.
Thank you, sister. We shall be as comfortable as possible.
But one thing, we shall sleep like tops. Will there
be any one to wake us? At what time? Do

(21:01):
you want to get up at six? Sister? Punctually as soldiers,
must you know? Oh? Then I will see to it.
We have Mass at four o'clock every morning, at four o'clock,
exclaimed B. Every morning. Very well, sister, to show you
we are not miscreants. Wake us at half past three
and we will go to mass too. But it isn't allowed.

(21:23):
It is our mass in our chapel. No, no, you
must sleep, get to bed quickly. Good night. I will
wake you at six o'clock. Good night, sister Gabrielle, good night.
We shall be so comfortable. You see you had some
spare beds after all, Oh, yes, we had one. Can
always manage somehow. And she went off, shutting the door

(21:45):
behind her. And now B and I thought of nothing
but the luxury of sleeping in a bed, How delightful
it would be after our sleepless nights in the fogs
of the trenches. But what was that noise resounding through
the convent? What was that no loocking and those wailing cries?
There was some one at the door, hammering at the knocker,
some one weeping and sobbing in the dark. I opened

(22:08):
my window and leant out, but the front door had
already been opened, and a figure slipped in hurriedly. The
sobs came up the stairs to our door, and women's voices,
Sister Gabrielle's voice speaking Flemish, and another voice sounding like
a death rattle, trying in vain to pronounce words through
choking sobs. How horrible that monotonous, inconsolable, continual wail was.

(22:31):
It went on for a short time, and then doors
were opened and shut, and voices died away, and suddenly
the noise ceased. He had already got into bed, and
from under the sheets he begged me, in a voice
muffled by the bed clothes, to put the candle out quickly.
But I was haunted by that moaning, though I could
not hear it any longer. I wanted to know what

(22:51):
tragedy had caused those sobs. I could not doubt that
the horrible war was at the bottom of it, and
yet we were a long way from the firing line.
My curiosity overcome my fatigue. I put on my jacket
and went out, taking the candle with me. I ran
down two staircases, and my footsteps seemed to wake the
dismal echoes in the silent convent. Just as I came

(23:13):
to the hall, Sister Gabrielle also arrived, with a small
lantern in her hand. I must have frightened her, for
she started and gave a little scream. But she soon
recovered and guessed what had disturbed me. She told me
all about it in a few simple sentences. A poor
woman had fled from her village carrying her little girl
of eighteen months, but she was running distractedly along the

(23:34):
road from Lizerne to Bouscheng. A German shell had fallen,
and a fragment of it had killed her baby in
her arms. She had just come six kilometers in the dark,
clasping the little corpse to her breast. In an agony
of despair, she got to Alveding and knocked at the
door of the convent, knowing that there she would find
a refuge. And all along the road she had passed convoys,

(23:56):
relief troops, and despatch riders, but she took no heed
of them. She was obsessed by one thought to find
a shelter for the remains of what had been her
joy and hope of her life. Just come, said Sister Gabrielle,
I will let you see her. We have put her
poor little body in this mortuary's chamber, and Sister Elizabeth
is watching there. I followed Sister Gabrielle, who opened a

(24:18):
small door and went down a few steps. We crossed
a paved court. A lantern and my candle cast yellowish
gleams upon the high walls of the buildings. Heavy drops
of rain were falling, making a strange noise on the stones,
and a kind of anguish seized me when I again
heard the continuous wailing of the unhappy mother. Sister gabriel
opened a low door very gently, and we went in.

(24:41):
I must confess that I have been much less moved when,
after the first day of the Battle of the Marn,
we passed through a wood where our artillery had reduced
a whole German regiment to a shapeless mass of human fragments.
Here I realized all the horror of war. That men
should kill each other in defense of their homes is
conceivable enough, and I honor those who fall. But it

(25:04):
passes all understanding why the massacre should include these poor, weak,
and innocent creatures. And sights such as this one I
saw in that little mortuary chapel inspire a fierce thirst
for vengeance. On a kind of large table covered with
a white cloth, the poor body was laid out. It
bore no trace of any wound, and the little white

(25:24):
face seemed to be smiling. The good nuns had covered
the shabby clothes with an embroidered cloth. Upon that they
had crossed the little hands, which seemed to be clasping
a tiny crucifix, and over the whole they had strewn
an armful of flowers. On each side they had placed
silver candlesticks, and the reddish candle light made golden reflections
in the curly locks of the little corpse. Crouching on

(25:48):
the ground. By the side of it, I saw a
shapeless heap of clothes which seemed to be shaken by
convulsive spasms. It was from this heap that the monotonous
wailing came. It was the young mother weeping for a
little one. One felt that nothing could console her, and
that words would only increase her suffering. Besides, she had

(26:09):
not even raised her head when we went in. It
was best to leave her alone, since they say that
tears bring comfort. On the other side, a young sister
was kneeling at a predieu telling her rosary. Sister Gabrielle
knelt down on the ground beside her. I longed to
do something to lessen that grief and help the poor

(26:30):
woman a little. She must have come there in a
state of destitution. Her clothes revealed her poverty. But I
durst not disturb either her mourning or her prayers, and
I came out quietly on tiptoe outside. The rain, which
was now falling heavily refreshed my fevered head somewhat. I
crossed the courtyard quickly, but my candle went out, and

(26:51):
I had some trouble in relighting it, which was very necessary,
as I had to find my way in a maze
of doors and passages. At last I reached my staircase
and passed the landing and the sister's chapel. I heard
a distant clock strike midnight, went up another story and
opened our door noiselessly. I thought that B would perhaps
be waiting for me, impatiently anxious to learn the reason

(27:14):
for all the noise, But B was snoring with the
bed clothes over his ears. At six o'clock, some one
knocked at our door, and I opened my eyes. Daylight
showed faintly through the open window. I wondered where I was,
and suddenly remembered elveding the convent. Is it you, Sister Gabrielle,
I asked, oh, yes, it's I. Get up. I've been

(27:37):
knocking for more than an hour. B sat up in
his bed. I did the same and told him what
I had seen the evening before. He shook his head
mournfully and concluded, well, it's war. I hope they'll have
a good breakfast ready for us. We hurried through our
dressings and ablutions, for we had to get back quickly
to our quarters. As we came out of our room,

(27:57):
lively and refreshed, we met Sister Gabrielle, who seemed to
have been waiting for us. She asked us how we
had slept, and to stop the flood of eloquence that
B was on the point of letting loose. She said,
that's right, you should thank me later on. Come down
now your breakfast is waiting for you. It will get cold,
But on passing the chapel, B would insist on seeing it.

(28:19):
Sister Gabrielle hesitated a moment, and then gave way, as
you would to a child, for the sake of peace.
She opened the outer door and smiled indulgently, as if
anxious to humor all our whims. We passed through an
anteroom and then entered the chapel. It was quite small,
only large enough to hold about twenty people. The walls
were white, without any ornament, and paneled up to about

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the height of a man. The altar was extremely simple
and decorated with a few flowers. Some rush chairs completed
the plenishings of the sanctuary, where the good sisters of
Elberding assembled every morning at four o'clock for prayers. As
we came out of this humble chapel, I noticed two
mattresses laid in a corner of little anteroom. And who

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sleeps here? Then, Sister I asked, Sister Gabrielle turned red
as a poppy. I had to repeat my question twice.
When lowering her eyes, she answered, Sister Elizabeth, Sister Elizabeth,
and I Sister Gabrielle, Sister Gabrielle. Then that little room

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and those two little beds where we slept were yours. Hush,
please come to breakfast at once, And light as a bird,
she disappeared down the staircase so quickly that a black
veil floated high above her, as though to hide her confusion,
and we saw no more of sister Gabrielle. It was
a very old woman, one of the inmates, who brought

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us our hot milk and coffee, our brown bread and
fresh butter in the dining room with the high cupboards
of polished wood. She explained that at this hour the
nuns were busy attending to the old folk, and it
was no use begging to see our little hostess again.
We were told it would be against the rules, and
we felt that the and had now indeed fallen upon
this charming act of the weary tragedy. Only just as

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we were passing out of the convent gate for the
last time, the old lady put into our hands a
big packet of provisions, wrapped up in a napkin. She'd
brought it hidden under her apron. Here she told me
to give you this, and to say that she will
pray for you. Our hearts swelled as we heard the
heavy door close behind us, and whilst we went away

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silently along the broken and muddy road, we thought of
the sterling hearts that are hidden under the humble habits
of the convent. Sister Gabrielle, I shall never forget you,
Never will your delicate features fade from my memory, and
I seem to see you still going on up that
great wooden staircase, lit up by the flickering flame of
the candle, when you and Sister Elizabeth gave up your

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beds so simply and unostentationously to the two unknown soldiers.
End of Chapter seven. Recording by f NH. Visit www
dot book Arranger dot co dot uk.