My Home In The Field of Honor

My Home In The Field of Honor

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Title: My Home In The Field of Honor
Author: Frances Wilson Huard
Release Date: April 28, 2004 [EBook #12185]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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IN THE FIELD OF HONOR ***

Produced by Sean Pobuda

MY HOME IN THE FIELD OF HONOUR
BY FRANCES WILSON HUARD

I
The third week in July found a very merry gathering at the Chateau de
Villiers. (Villiers is our summer home situated near Marne River, sixty
miles or an hour by train to Paris.)
Nothing, I think, could have been farther from thoughts than the idea of
war. Our May Wilson Preston, the artist; Mrs. Chase, the editor of a
well-known woman's magazine; Hugues Delorme, the French artist;
and numerous other guests, discussed the theatre and the "Caillaux

case" from every conceivable point of view, and their conversations
were only interrupted by serious attempts to prove their national
superiority at bridge, and long delightful walks in the park.
As I look back now over those cheerful times, I can distinctly
remember one bright sunny morning, when after a half-hour's climbing
we reached the highest spot on our property. Very warm and a trifle out
of breath we sought shelter beneath a big purple beech, and I can still
hear H. explaining to Mrs. Chase:
"Below you on the right runs the Marne, and over there, beyond those
hills, do you see that long straight line of trees?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's the road that lead's from Paris to Metz!"
At that moment I'm confident he hadn't the slightest arriere pensee.
On Monday, the 27th, Mrs. Preston, having decided to take her leave, I
determined to accompany her to Paris. Several members of the house
party joined us, leaving H. and a half-dozen friends at Villiers. We took
an early morning train, and wrapped in our newspapers we were rolling
peacefully towards the capital when someone called out, "For Heaven's
sake, look at those funny soldiers!"
Glancing through the window, I caught sight of numerous gray-haired,
bushy-bearded men stationed at even distances along the line, while
here and there little groups beneath or around a tent were preparing the
morning meal.
What strange looking creatures they were; anything but military in their
dirty white overalls--the only things that betrayed their calling being
their caps and their guns!
"What on earth are they?" queried an American.
"Oh, only some territorials serving their last period of twenty-nine days.
It's not worth while giving them uniforms for so short a time!"
"Bah!" came from the other end of the compartment. "I should think it
was hot enough in the barracks without forcing men that age to mount a
guard in the sun!"
"It's about time for the Grand manaeuvres, isn't it?"
And in like manner the conversation rose and dwindled, and we
returned to our papers, paying no more attention to the territorials
stationed along the rails.
A theatre party having been arranged, I decided to stop over in Paris.

The play was Georgette Lemeunier at the Comedie Francaise. The
house was full--the audience chiefly composed of Americans and
tourists, and throughout the entire piece even very significant allusions
to current political events failed to arouse any unwonted enthusiasm on
the part of the French contingent. Outside not even an edition speciale
de la Presse betokened the slightest uneasiness.
The next day, that is, Tuesday, the 28th, I had a business meeting with
my friends, Mr. Gautron and Mr. Pierre Mortier, editor of the Gil Blas.
Mr. Gautron was on the minute, but Mr. Mortier kept us waiting over
an hour and when finally we had despaired of his coming I heard
someone hurrying across the court, and the bell was rung impatiently.
Mr. Mortier rushed in, unannounced, very red, very excited, very
apologetic.
"A thousand pardons. I'm horribly late, but you'll forgive me when you
hear the news. I've just come from the Foreign Office. All diplomatic
relations with Germany are suspended. War will be declared Saturday!"
Mr. Gautron and I looked at each other, then at Mr. Mortier, and
smiled.
"No, I'm not joking. I'm as serious as I have ever been in my life. The
proof: on leaving the Foreign Office I went and had a neglected tooth
filled, and on my way down, stopped at my shoemaker's and ordered a
pair of good strong boots for Saturday morning. I'll be