With an Ambulance During the Franco-German War: Personal Experiences and Adventures with Both Armies, 1870-1871Ryan, Charles Edward
History
With an Ambulance During the Franco-German War: Personal Experiences and Adventures with Both Armies, 1870-1871
Ryan, Charles Edward
Franco-Prussian War, 1870-1871 -- Civilian relief
In the front garden every vine was dead, cut from the wall. For the wall
had served as a shelter for the German soldiers, and was pierced all
along for rifle rests, and by every hole was a heap of empty cartridge
cases. The greenhouse and conservatories,--who shall tell their ruin?
Glass is a poor protection against artillery, and the fierce frost had
completed the work. There were the plants all arranged on their stands;
there stood the orange trees--all were dead and brown--not a twig was
alive. I thought of my mother and her flowers, as Madame Colombier
turned with a sigh from her ruined conservatory, and walked back through
the melancholy garden. But she was gay enough, though her husband seemed
to feel deeply the destruction of his lovely home. He had been married
but five years, and had spent much money in making this a happy spot for
his wife and children--and now, the wreck! But even M. Colombier laughed
with us when we came to the piles of empty bottles that lay in the yard;
they were all that was left of two well-filled cellars. The French
soldiers had celebrated their victory at the expense of the master of
the Château Renardier.
In the coach-house were Madame Colombier's two broughams; they had been
used in the battle as temporary fortifications, and were literally
riddled with bullets. We walked to the fish pond--a piece of ornamental
water in the lawn. It had been netted, and not a fish was left. I
stumbled on something under the trees by its brink. It was a Prussian
cavalry saddle, not a comfortable-looking thing, thought I, as I
surveyed the angular hide-covered wood,--but certainly economical when
it is so easily lost. But evening was coming on; so having had lunch in
the Château (the strangest ruin I ever picnicked in), we bade adieu to
Renardier, and drove back to Orleans.
M. Colombier's house there had, like his country château, been used
during the war as a little hospital; and Charlie told me, as he waited
in the drawing-room before dinner, how many wounded and dying inmates
that room lately had.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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