My Double Life: The Memoirs of Sarah Bernhardt Part 28

XVIII

A BOLD JOURNEY THROUGH THE GERMAN LINES

On February 4 we started on this journey, which was to have lasted three days, and lasted eleven. At the first gate at which I presented myself for leaving Paris I was sent back in the most brutal fashion.

Permissions to go outside the city had to be submitted for signature at the German outposts. I went to another gate, but it was only at the postern gate of Poissonniers that I could get my pa.s.sport signed.

We were taken into a little shed which had been transformed into an office. A Prussian general was seated there. He looked me up and down, and then said:

"Are you Sarah Bernhardt?"

"Yes," I answered.

"And this young lady is with you?"

"Yes."

"And you think you are going to cross easily?"

"I hope so."

"Well then, you are mistaken, and you would do better to stay inside Paris."

"No; I want to leave. I'll see myself what will happen, but I want to leave."

He shrugged his shoulders, called an officer, said something I did not understand in German, and then went out, leaving us alone without our pa.s.sports.

We had been there about a quarter of an hour when I suddenly heard a voice I knew. It was that of one of my friends, Rene Griffon, who had heard of my departure, and had come after me to try to dissuade me. The trouble he had taken was all in vain, though, as I was determined to leave. The general returned soon after, and Griffon was anxious to know what might happen to us.

"Everything!" returned the officer. "And worse than everything!"

Griffon spoke German, and had a short colloquy with the officer about us. This rather annoyed me, for, as I did not understand, I imagined that he was urging the general to prevent us from starting. I nevertheless resisted all persuasions, supplications, and even threats.

A few minutes later a well-appointed vehicle drew up at the door of the shed.

"There you are!" said the German officer roughly. "I am sending you to Gonesse, where you will find the provision train which starts in an hour. I am recommending you to the care of the station-master, the Commandant X. After that may G.o.d take care of you!"

I stepped into the general's carriage, and said farewell to my friend, who was in despair. We arrived at Gonesse, and got out at the station, where we saw a little group of people talking in low voices. The coachman made me a military salute, refused what I wished to give him, and drove away at full speed. I advanced towards the group, wondering to whom I ought to speak, when a friendly voice exclaimed, "What, you here!

Where have you come from? Where are you going?" It was Villaret, the tenor in vogue at the Opera. He was going to his young wife, I believe, of whom he had had no news for five months. He introduced one of his friends, who was travelling with him, and whose name I do not remember; General Pelissier's son, and a very old man, so pale, and so sad-looking and woebegone, that I felt quite sorry for him. He was a M. Gerson, and was going to Belgium to take his grandson to his G.o.dmother's. His two sons had been killed during this pitiful war. One of the sons was married, and his wife had died of sorrow and despair. He was taking the orphan boy to his G.o.dmother, and he hoped to die himself as soon as possible afterwards.

Ah, the poor fellow, he was only fifty-nine then, and he was so cruelly ravaged by his grief that I took him for seventy.

Besides these five persons, there was an unbearable chatterer named Theodore Joussian, a wine dealer. Oh, he did not require any introduction.

"How do you do, Madame?" he began. "How fortunate that you are going to travel with us. Ah, the journey will be a difficult one. Where are you going? Two women alone! It is not at all prudent, especially as all the routes are crowded with German and French sharpshooters, marauders, and thieves. Oh, haven't I demolished some of those German sharpshooters!

Sh----We must speak quietly, though; these sly fellows are very quick of hearing!" He then pointed to the German officers who were walking up and down. "Ah, the rascals!" he went on. "If I had my uniform and my gun they would not walk so boldly in front of Theodore Joussian. I have no fewer than six helmets at home...."

The man got on my nerves, and I turned my back on him and looked to see which of the men before me could be the station-master.

A tall young German, with his arm in a sling, came towards me with an open letter. It was the one which the general's coachman had handed to him, recommending me to his care. He held out his sound arm to me, but I refused it. He bowed and led the way, and I followed him, accompanied by Mlle. Soubise.

On arriving in his office he gave us seats at a little table, upon which knives and forks were placed for two persons. It was then three o'clock in the afternoon, and we had had nothing, not even a drop of water, since the evening before. I was very much touched by this thoughtfulness, and we did honour to the very simple but refreshing meal offered us by the young officer.

Whilst we lunched I looked at him when he was not noticing me. He was very young, and his face bore traces of recent suffering. I felt a compa.s.sionate tenderness for this unfortunate man, who was crippled for life, and my hatred for war increased still more.

He suddenly said to me, in rather bad French, "I think I can give you news of one of your friends."

"What is his name?" I asked.

"Emmanuel Bocher."

"Oh yes, he is certainly a great friend of mine. How is he?"

"He is still a prisoner, but he is very well."

"But I thought he had been released," I said.

"Some of those who were taken with him were released, on giving their word never to take up arms against us again, but he refused to give his word."

"Oh, the brave soldier!" I exclaimed, in spite of myself.

The young German looked at me with his clear sad eyes.

"Yes," he said simply, "the brave soldier!"

When we had finished our luncheon I rose to return to the other travellers.

"The compartment reserved for you will not be here for two hours," said the young officer. "If you would like to rest, ladies, I will come for you at the right time." He went away, and before long I was sound asleep. I was nearly dead with fatigue.

Mlle. Soubise touched me on the shoulder to rouse me. The train was ready to start, and the young officer walked with me to it. I was a little amazed when I saw the carriage in which I was to travel. It had no roof, and was filled with coal. The officer had several empty sacks put in, one on the top of the other, to make our seats less hard. He sent for his officer's cloak, begging me to take it with us and send it him back, but I refused this odious disguise most energetically. It was a deadly cold day, but I preferred dying of cold to m.u.f.fling up in a cloak belonging to the enemy.

The whistle was blown, the wounded officer saluted, and the train started. There were Prussian soldiers in the carriages. The subordinates, the employes, and the soldiers were just as brutish and rude as the German officers were polite and courteous.

The train stopped without any plausible reason, it started again to stop again, and it then stood still for an hour on this icy-cold night. On arriving at Creil, the stoker, the engine-driver, the soldiers, and every one else got out. I watched all these men, whistling, bawling to each other, spitting, and bursting into laughter as they pointed to us.

Were they not the conquerors and we the conquered?

At Creil we stayed more than two hours. We could hear the distant sound of foreign music and the hurrahs of Germans who were making merry. All this hubbub came from a white house about five hundred yards away. We could distinguish the outlines of human beings locked in each other's arms, waltzing and turning round and round in a giddy revel.

It began to get on my nerves, for it seemed likely to continue until daylight.

I got out with Villaret, intending at any rate to stretch my limbs. We went towards the white house, and then, as I did not want to tell him my plan, I asked him to wait there for me.

Very fortunately, though, for me, I had not time to cross the threshold of this vile lodging-house, for an officer, smoking a cigarette, was just coming out of a small door. He spoke to me in German.

"I am French," I replied, and he then came up to me, speaking my language, for they could all talk French.