They had all the material for teaching the pretty lessons of war—­ inflammable tablets which would make a house blaze in less than five minutes after they had been strewn about the floors and touched by a lighted match (I have a few specimens of the stuff)—­incendiary bombs which worked even more rapidly, torches for setting fire to old barns and thatched roofs.  In the wonderful equipment of the German army in the field this material of destruction had not been forgotten and it was used in many little towns and villages where German soldiers heard real or imaginary shots, suspected betrayal from any toothless old peasant, and found themselves in the grip of fear because these Frenchwomen, these old men of the farm and the workshop, and even the children, stared at them as they passed with contemptuous eyes and kept an uncomfortable silence even when spoken to with cheerful Teuton greetings, and did not hide the loathing of their souls.  All this silence of village people, all these black looks seemed to German soldiers like an evil spell about them.  It got upon their nerves and made them angry.  They had come to enjoy the fruits of victory in France, or at best the fruits of life before death came.  So these women would not smile, eh?  Nor give their kisses nor their love with amiability?  Well, a German soldier would have his kisses even though he had to hold a shrieking woman to his lips.  He would take his love even though he had to kill the creature who refused it.  These Frenchwomen were not so austere as a rule in times of peace.  If they would not be fondled they should be forced.  Herr Gott! they should know their masters.

5

At the little town of Rebais in the department of Seine-et-Marne there was a pretty Frenchwoman who kept a grocer’s shop and did not care for the way in which some German soldiers made free with her biscuits and sweetmeats.  She was a proud and fearless young woman, and when the soldiers grinned at her and tried to put their arms about her she struck them and called them unpleasant names and drew an open knife.  So she wanted her lesson?  Well, she had a soft white neck, and if they could not put their arms about it they would put a rope round it and hang her with her pride.  But she was strong and quick as well as proud.  She cut their rope with her knife and fought like a wild thing.  So they slashed at her with their fists and bruised all her beauty by the time one of their officers came in and ordered them away.  No one would court her after the lesson they had given her.

At Saint-Denis-en-Rebais, on September 7, an Uhlan who was eager for a woman’s love saw another pretty woman who tried to hide from him.  There was a mother-in-law with her, and a little son, eight years of age.  But in war-time one has to make haste to seize one’s victim or one’s loot.  Death is waiting round the corner.  Under the cover of his rifle—­he had a restless finger on the trigger—­the Uhlan bade the woman strip herself before him.  She had not the pride or the courage of the other woman.  She did not want to die, because of that small boy who stared with horror in his eyes.  The mother-in-law clasped the child close and hid those wide staring eyes in her skirts, and turned her own face away from a scene of bestial violence, moaning to the sound of her daughter’s cries.