“It was the dolls that seemed most poignant to me,” said Lucie. “Those simple little poppets, which usually bring solace and joy, were the only objects they were able to save.”
They flooded into the once-beautiful squares and parks of Reims, camping where they could. Much of the citizenry came out to cook for them and feed them. The plaza in front of town hall, which later became a scene of carnage, was full of children playing, happy to experience a respite in their journey. Their parents’ faces were deeply lined in worry; they were not able to enjoy themselves in the same way.
Within two weeks they heard the first guns, and within two days of that, the Germans arrived. They insisted a French prisoner show them the way to themairie, but as he was not from Reims he misled them. Then they picked up another Frenchman, who might well have misled them on purpose. In any case, theBocheswere enraged by the time they found themairie. Perhaps that is why they set about shelling the city for a full half an hour, destroying several buildings and terrifying the populace—even though they had already conquered the city.
Eight days later the French soldiers returned and drove the Huns out of Reims in a glorious victory. The invaders retreated to the heights and began to bombard the town, determined to destroy what they could not have.
We have yet to see if they will succeed, if our beloved Reims will fall in on itself like so many other villages and towns, to become a city fit only for the dead.
Sending you kind wishes and respectful thoughts,
Émile Legrand
April 2, 1916
My dearest Mrs. Whittaker,
I wonder about the educational system in your country. Here in France, schools used to be run by convents and monasteries, but after the revolution, the state took over the charge of developing good citizens. Still, the teachers approach their work with no less selfless dedication than did the nuns and monks. Even after the evacuation orders, even after the Germans invaded and were in turn expelled, only to hide in the hills “watering” the city of Reims with showers of shells, every teacher stayed. If children remained, they said, they would remain to teach them.
A teacher’s profession is a consecration.
Early in the shelling a bomb crashed into the house of Monsieur Forsant, Inspector of Primary Education. He was not at home, fortunately, but he took it as a harbinger of what was to come. And so even though the schools were scheduled to open two weeks after the incendiary bombs destroyed our cathedral, Monsieur Forsant finally decided to delay the opening to an undetermined date in the future.
After much of the citizenry had fled to the shelter of thecrayères, the caves that run under the city, an intrepid teacher named Madame Deresme asked for permission to open a school in that dank, dark, but relatively safe place.
Monsieur Forsant came to inspect the scene. He encountered there a bitter smell, the sight of unwashed, unkempt, and dejected women, children, and grandparents huddling together. He had to climb over beds and push aside chairs to pass, as many of the refugees had brought all their worldly goods down into the tunnels, such as they could.
It was clear the people were suffering from the physical and moral wretchedness of the loss of their possessions, their loved ones, their safety. There is a certain abasement of the spirit that accompanies invasion and war, my dearmarraine, the likes of which I sincerely hope you will never experience. It is in some ways more difficult than the outright terror of the trenches, or at least it is a more insidious adversary.
In France the teachers do not believe in pampering children. The youth must learn the moral courage that is necessary to face life’s difficulties. The children are taught that they are doing their best for France, that they are displaying their patriotism, by focusing on their studies and learning well.
And do you know that first Christmas, hundreds of pairs of new shoes were sent to the children by people all over France? And a soldier managed to bring a Christmas tree through the dangerous section. They lit candles and sang patriotic songs, and the children recited poems. The soldiers billeted there in the caves were the appreciative audience, along with the mothers and grandparents.
When Lucie described the vivid scene, I was reminded of the Christmas Eve armistice. I take comfort in the way humans insist on creating moments of meaning, and peace, and joy, even in the most trying of times.
As Lucie says: The human spirit does not want to die; it is a resilient thing.
With all my best wishes,
Émile Legrand
?After reviewing the website for Blé Champagne, Rosalyn realized Emma had a point—the website’s English version was at bestawkward, and often downright wrong. She approached Blondine about it, and the two of them quickly developed a routine: Many mornings Blondine would rap on her door with croissants and coffee in hand, and they would sit at the table and eat breakfast while Rosalyn suggested changes to Blé Champagne’s website as well as to other marketing materials.
In exchange, Blondine helped Rosalyn work through the rather gruesome list of unknown vocabulary she had gleaned from Émile’s letters.
Blondine winced in distaste at the ghastlier descriptions, and some phrases she was unable to decipher, but she knew many others:obusmeant “shell, bombardment.”Une abeille, or a bee, referred to a bullet.Un Bochewas a German.Un crapouillot, a little toad, was a small mortar.Un groin de cochon, a pig’s snout, meant a “gas mask.”Le séchoir, the clothesline, referred to the rolls of barbed wire that crisscrossed the battlefields—it had earned the nickname because soldiers became entangled on the wire as they ran, and remained hanging there, even in death.
“No time for language lessons today,” Blondine declared one morning. “I have been remiss—I must show you our facilities here. You run around all of Champagne, but haven’t yet seen our own operation. My father will kill me to know this. So, afterle petit déjeuner, we shall take a tour, yes?”
After they had enjoyed flaky, butter-soaked croissants and downed rich coffee, Blondine showed Rosalyn their champagne-making process and the chilly storage caves built directly into the hill behind the loading dock.
“Probably you know all about theméthode champenoise,” said Blondine.
“As you know, I’m more of a red wine connoisseur. I would love a refresher course.”
“Theméthode champenoiseinvolves the deliberate initiation of a second fermentation, which is responsible for the bubbles,” Blondine explained as she pointed out the wine-making equipment. “Primary fermentation takes place in tanks to transform the juice into wine. Bottle fermentation, known as theprise de mousse, is when the wine begins to effervesce.”
The bottles were capped with metal tops, like soda. Then the wine was carefully cataloged and allowed to rest for several years in A-frame racks calledpupitresthat positioned the bottles on an angle, nose down. The bottles were regularly “riddled,” or turned a bit to collect the debris produced by the yeasts and sugars, which would otherwise cloud the wine.
