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Updated: May 22, 2025
"I have eight." "What are they doing at Bar-le-Duc? Get them here." "Is there work, sir?" "Work! They shall work from dawn to sunset so long as they will dance all night! Englishwomen do dance, don't they?" "I have never been to England." "Get them here. Send for them."
East of Vitry le Francois the roads deteriorate, and from thence to Bar- le they are inferior to any hitherto encountered in France; nevertheless, from the American standpoint they are very good roads, and when, at five o'clock, I wheel into Bar-le-Duc and come to sum up the aggregate of the day's journey I find that, without any undue exertion, I have covered very nearly one hundred and sixty kilometres, or about one hundred English miles, since 8.30 A.M., notwithstanding a good hour's halt at Vitry le Francois for dinner.
Montaigne tells us, that he was present one day at Bar-le-duc, when King Francis the Second, for a memorial of Réné, King of Sicily, was presented with a picture the king had drawn of himself. Some how or other, kings and queens are apt to have too many trappings about them; and the man is often chosen to paint, who paints velvets and satins best, and faces the worst.
Facing this left center came General Langle's Fourth French Army, covering the southern side of the plain of Chalons, it lay south of Vitry-le-François, and faced due north. On this army, it was expected, the brunt of the drive would fall. At this point the French battle line made a sharp angle, the Third French Army, commanded by General Sarrail, occupying a base from Bar-le-Duc to Verdun.
It is charming in summer, it may be a little damp in winter, but the nurses do not complain; the nurses never complain! "Saturday was the most interesting day of my trip. I saw two field hospitals between Bar-le-Duc and Verdun.
The wounded were admirably cared for in beautiful rooms, with windows opening on a ravishing park; the nurses housed with the greatest care. "The next day I was at Bar-le-Duc, first at the Central, which is an immense hospital of three thousand beds.
Joffre, accordingly, decided to continue the retreat and brought all his forces that were west of the Meuse, in good order and no longer heavily pressed back behind the Marne and on a line from Paris, through Meaux, Sézanne, La Fère Champenoise, Vitry-le-François, Bar-le-Duc, and thence north to Verdun.
The great route nationale from Bar-le-Duc to Verdun runs through a rolling, buff-brown moorland, poor in villages and arid and desolate in aspect. Now it sinks through moorland valleys, now it cuts bowl-shaped depressions in which the spring rains have bred green quagmires, and now, rising, leaps the crest of a hill commanding a landscape of ocean-like immensity.
Bar-le-Duc appears to be quite an important business centre, pleasantly situated in the valley of the Ornain River, a tributary of the Marne; and the stream, in its narrow, fertile valley, winds around among hills from whose sloping sides, every autumn, fairly ooze the celebrated red wines of the Meuse and Moselle regions.
There is something awful and dreadful about the orderliness of a great offensive, for while one's imagination is grasped by the grandeur and the organization of the thing, all one's faculties of intellect are revolted by the stark brutality of death en masse. Early in February we were called to Bar-le-Duc, a pleasant old city some distance behind Verdun.
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