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QUIET DAYS •
189
communicating trenches joining the former together, and the
trees are often charred and stripped by the lire.
The French are cleverer at artillery than infantry shooting.
One of the doctors here told me that of the 2500 patients he
had had to attend to, not quite ten per cent had been hit by
rifle bullets ; a few had been wounded by sword cuts or
bayonet thrusts, but all the rest had been struck by shell
splinters and shrapnel bullets. If the ammunition were
better, the effect of the French artillery fire would be
appalling.
On Sunday morning, the 4th of October, at 5 o’clock, the
kindly Franciscan friar came to call me. I dressed hurriedly,
and accompanied by a Catholic soldier on orderly duty in
von Behr’s house I wandered off to the " Home for the Aged,"
in the chapel of which the birthday of St. Francis was to be
celebrated with mass and song. No daylight, no moonlight ;
the heavy hand of night still grips the earth. A damp mist
floats over Vouziers and the stone paving is wet. Here and
there an electric lamp is engaged in an unequal struggle
against the darkness. Now and then a few hurried steps are
heard—monks on the way to mass. In front of a house used
for some military purpose tramps a sentry—otherwise the
street is still and silent.
On reaching our goal we step into a tiny garden, and are
presently in the chapel. It is already filled with worshippers
Here sit the Elizabeth sisters from Essen in their white veils,
and the St, Vincent sisters from Hildesheim in black veils ;
the Franciscan friars have already taken their places. Several
Catholic soldiers occupy the galleries, where presently I join
them.
At the altar the statues of saints are illumined by tall
candles, just being lit, but the two candelabras are not yet
brought into use. It is still so dark outside that the stained-
glass windows shut out all light and are illumined only from
the inside. The features and dress of the Virgin Mary and
St. Helena in their leaden setting are scarcely discernible.
A friar in a vestment embroidered in white and gold, sur-
rounded by four other friars equally gorgeously attired, steps
up to the altar. Suspended from long, fine chains they carry
censers with glowing charcoal, on which one of them sprinkles
an aromatic powder. Light blue clouds of smoke ascend to me
in the gallery and instantly recall to my memory similar
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