Chapter XIV: 14 September, 1914

AT the top of the hill, in the same spot where we watched with aching hearts the passing of the refugees, we are now watching for the inhabitants of the countryside, who are beginning to come back.

It is a soft, mellow autumn day. Everything is wrapped in a delicate veil of mist, and the sun, sifting through gently, touches the houses with a pale golden light.

Ah, but what a good and beautiful day! They are coming home!

Yes, there they come, slowly, in little groups.

Several black specks at the foot of the hill! Impatiently we wait until they are near enough for us to recognize them. How different is the look in their faces, and how different their whole bearing from that of the departure!

We are happy to see once more even those who were most indifferent to us. They are like members of our own family returning from a long journey.

Ah! How glad they are to catch sight of the roofs of their houses down below them in the valley!

In a few words they tell us what they have suffered. They have experienced in their wanderings all the anguish of the homeless. How dark the future looked to them, whereas now, their houses, safe from harm, full of sweet welcome, open wide their doors to receive them.

Their home--symbol of the native land--is still there. How could they have gone away from it? Could anything be more beautiful to their eyes than their humble dwelling--their little white house?

How clearly they understand now that love of one small corner of the earth, that love of home, which years of peaceful happiness had perhaps made dim.

Beloved spot where one has lived and loved and suffered, we have all needed this hard trial to show us how we cherish you.

So they are coming home.

And there, in the distance, where sky meets valley, our heroes lie dead.

Beautiful young heroes, flower and hope of our land, who have given their lives unfalteringly here, that our homes might be saved to us!

This thought pervades all the home-coming, and the gratitude of those who are returning floods forth to those who are no more.

Now the setting sun stains the sky with crimson, and forms, with bands of azure and of white, an immense standard which it spreads like a winding-sheet over those glorious heroes who have entered upon the eternal life.

NOTE BY THE AUTHOR

Our humble village has nothing very noteworthy, unless
perhaps its magnificent situation on a hillside overlooking
the Marne and the Grand-Morin, with beautiful views in every
direction.

I am going to jot down here a passage which sums up the
history of the commune, taken from "Excursions in the Valley
of the Grand-Morin," by Monsieur Georges Husson:

"The Commune of Quincy is one of the largest of the Canton
of Crécy. Built on a high plateau, it comprises the village
proper, of pleasing aspect, and several hamlets: Ségy,
Moulignon, Voisins, Jonchery, Huiry, Demi-Lune, etc.

"The oldest document where Quincy is mentioned is a charter
dated 1257, in which King Louis IX gives permission to
cultivate certain lands of the village, in return for the
payment of seven measures of barley at Christmas, and nine
deniers for Easter eggs.

"From the thirteenth to the fifteenth centuries, passing by
the long line of over-lords, quite without interest, we find
nothing remarkable in the history of Quincy. But during the
Wars of the League, June 12, 1590, the village was the scene
of deplorable events.

"Chevalier de Thury, Governor of Meaux, and Sieur de
Saint-Paul, Governor of Brie, at the head of two thousand
men, besieged the village, where intrenchments had been
made. The inhabitants were forced to retreat before the
besiegers; part of them took refuge in the church, and
climbed up into the galleries that were pierced with
loopholes. From there they attacked the Leaguers and killed
fifty or more of them. The latter, exasperated, set fire to
the seats in the church, and the defenders, men and women,
about a hundred, were smothered.

"Meanwhile, the inhabitants of Quincy still held out, and
did not yield until about midnight, after a desperate
defence. They were condemned to pay a large sum of money,
and the Leaguers did not take their departure until they had
pillaged the unhappy village.

"In the nineteenth century, at the time of the invasion of
1814, the Allies established their headquarters at Quincy.
Frederic William III, King of Prussia, passed the nights of
March 28 and 29 in the New Château.

"Alexander I, Czar of Russia, spent the same two nights at
the Old Château. One can still see the room in which he
slept. The furniture has been carefully preserved.

"Thanks, doubtless, to their illustrious guests, the commune
was spared at that time."

In the twentieth century, to-day,--September 9, 1914,--it is
solely due to the valor of our soldiers that the village has
not been subjected to the worst kind of horrors.

H. C.-M.

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Transcriber's Notes:

Page 9, "ont" changed to "out" (out anything more)

End of Project Gutenberg's Beyond the Marne, by Henriette Cuvru-Magot