The Martian, journal publié par les soldats américains de l'Hôpital de Mars-sur-Allier , item 10
Transcription
Transcription history
-
The Martian
Hommes - 36-40
Chevaux - 8
Vol. 1 - No. 17. Sunday, December 15, 1918. Price: 30 centimes
----
Drawing in three colors of old people conversing. A few youngsters are also in the picture.
Column one
Memories flit lightly and pleasantly through her mind, like the rosy pink that kisses for a moment her soft cream cheeks, as the flames from the huge earth cast their reflection upon her where she sits in the warm, sheltered chimney ingle fire . She is old, - very old. Her snow white cap rests upon silver hair, and her face has the calm, sturdy strength that Rembrandt and Van Dyke loved to paint. The boyish soldiers, both American and French, who sometimes fill the little inn, strike a curiously incongruous note, for she dominates the gathering, and neither the youthful laughter, nor their warlike strength can erase the impression of peace that she makes. Her peace is profound - peace with the mind, with the passions and with God - yet it is the peace that has been sturdily fought for and earned, for her hands are hard with labor and her face bears the wrinkles of other and more tempestuous days.
She is one of the types to be remembered long, for we seldom meet her counter-part in America. She is rare and exquisite and it is
Column two
indeed good fortune to have seen her in the little inn. Then, too, there is the little girl who calls her "Grandmère," with the snapping, impudent black eyes, graceful form and carriage and a way with the boys. She is distinctively the soubrette type, saucy, quick with biting repartee, and her Puritanical elders might shake their heads, but Greuze would have transferred her bodily to canvas, excepting, of course, the wood sabots which she wears to save the precious leather shoes she reserved for the "promendade."
There are types and types in the little villages just over the hill from camp for which you would search in vain in the cities. The leaven of Paris has not filtered into these out-of-the-way corners. Where else would you find the
Column three
sallow, stringy-haired woman who presides over the open-front store, and who is not averse to "pickings" from the always rich American? Not that the prospect of large profit is not always alluring to the French woman, but where else can you find her in such a store? The huge Gruyere cheese, the more self-assertive Beaune and de Brie fromages, the ropes of garlic, large, smooth dates with the outer skins on, sandy chocolate, tawny grapes, marrons and American corned beef in tins, are in her stock, in the midst of which she maintains unceasing vigilance, torn at times between her natural suspicion of the foreigner, and her native desire to be polite.
Where else, too, would you find such a blacksmith? In the open air he builds his fire and heats the great, steel tires to a dull red, and he struggles with primitive tools and more primitive methods. He is a mighty man, it is true, but unlike Longfellow's smith, he is squat and chubby, and his biceps and triceps are peculiar knots, very much like the gnarled, knobby tops of the willow trunks.
(Continued on page 2)
-
The Martian
Hommes - 36-40
Chevaux - 8
Vol. 1 - No. 17. Sunday, December 15, 1918. Price: 30 centimes
----
Drawing in three colors of old people conversing. A few youngsters are also in the picture.
Column one
Memories flit lightly and pleasantly through her mind, like the rosy pink that kisses for a moment her soft cream cheeks, as the flames from the huge earth cast their reflection upon her where she sits in the warm, sheltered chimney ingle fire . She is old, - very old. Her snow white cap rests upon silver hair, and her face has the calm, sturdy strength that Rembrandt and Van Dyke loved to paint. The boyish soldiers, both American and French, who sometimes fill the little inn, strike a curiously incongruous note, for she dominates the gathering, and neither the youthful laughter, nor their warlike strength can erase the impression of peace that she makes. Her peace is profound - peace with the mind, with the passions and with God - yet it is the peace that has been sturdily fought for and earned, for her hands are hard with labor and her face bears the wrinkles of other and more tempestuous days.
She is one of the types to be remembered long, for we seldom meet her counter-part in America. She is rare and exquisite and it is
Column two
indeed good fortune to have seen her in the little inn. Then, too, there is the little girl who calls her "Grandmère," with the snapping, impudent black eyes, graceful form and carriage and a way with the boys. She is distinctively the soubrette type, saucy, quick with biting repartee, and her Puritanical elders might shake their heads, but Greuze would have transferred her bodily to canvas, excepting, of course, the wood sabots which she wears to save the precious leather shoes she reserved for the "promendade."
There are types and types in the little villages just over the hill from camp for which you would search in vain in the cities. The leaven of Paris has not filtered into these out-of-the-way corners. Where else would you find the
Column three
sallow, stringy-haired woman who presides over the open-front store, and who is not averse to "pickings" from the always rich American? Not that the prospect of large profit is not always alluring to the French woman, but where else can you find her in such a store? The huge Gruyere cheese, the more self-assertive Beaune and de Brie fromages, the ropes of garlic, large, smooth dates with the outer skins on, sandy chocolate, tawny grapes, marrons and American corned beef in tins, are in her stock, in the midst of which she maintains unceasing vigilance, torn at times between her natural suspicion of the foreigner, and her native desire to be polite.
Where else, too, would you find such a blacksmith? In the open air he builds his fire and heats the great, steel tires to a dull red, and he struggles with primitive tools and more primitive methods. He is a mighty man, it is true, but unlike Longfellow's smith, he is squat and chubby, and his biceps and triceps are peculiar knots, very much like the gnarled, knobby tops of the willow trunks.
(Continued on page 2)
-
The Martian
Hommes - 36-40
Chevaux - 8
Vol. 1 - No. 17. Sunday, December 15, 1918. Price: 30 centimes
----
Drawing in three colors of old people conversing. A few youngsters are also in the picture.
Column one
Memories flit lightly and pleasantly through her mind, like the rosy pink that kisses for a moment her soft cream cheeks, as the flames from the huge earth cast their reflection upon her where she sits in the warm, sheltered chimney ingle fire . She is old, - very old. Her snow white cap rests upon silver hair, and her face has the calm, sturdy strength that Rembrandt and Van Dyke loved to paint. The boyish soldiers, both American and French, who sometimes fill the little inn, strike a curiously incongruous note, for she dominates the gathering, and neither the youthful laughter, nor their warlike strength can erase the impression of peace that she makes. Her peace is profound - peace with the mind, with the passions and with God - yet it is the peace that has been sturdily fought for and earned, for her hands are hard with labor and her face bears the wrinkles of other and more tempestuous days.
She is one of the types to be remembered long, for we seldom meet her counter-part in America. She is rare and exquisite and it is
Column two
indeed good fortune to have seen her in the little inn. Then, too, there is the little girl who calls her "Grandmère," with the snapping, impudent black eyes, graceful form and carriage and a way with the boys. She is distinctively the soubrette type, saucy, quick with biting repartee, and her Puritanical elders might shake their heads, but Greuze would have transferred her bodily to canvas, excepting, of course, the wood sabots which she wears to save the precious leather shoes she reserved for the "promendade."
There are types and types in the little villages just over the hill from camp for which you would search in vain in the cities. The leaven of Paris has not filtered into these out-of-the-way corners. Where else would you find the
Column three
sallow, stringy-haired woman who presides over the open-front store, and who is not averse to "pickings" from the always rich American? Not that the prospect of large profit is not always alluring to the French woman, but where else can you find her in such a store? The huge Gruyere cheese, the
-
The Martian
Hommes - 36-40
Chevaux - 8
Vol. 1 - No. 17. Sunday, December 15, 1918. Price: 30 centimes
----
Drawing in three colors of old people conversing. A few youngsters are also in the picture.
Column one
Memories flit lightly and pleasantly through her mind, like the rosy pink that kisses for a moment her soft cream cheeks, as the flames from the huge earth cast their reflection upon her where she sits in the warm, sheltered chimney ingle fire . She is old, - very old. Her snow white cap rests upon silver hair, and her face has the calm, sturdy strength that Rembrandt and Van Dyke loved to paint. The boyish soldiers, both American and French, who sometimes fill the little inn, strike a curiously incongruous note, for she dominates the gathering, and neither the youthful laughter, nor their warlike strength can erase the impression of peace that she makes. Her peace is profound - peace with the mind, with the passions
Description
Save description- 46.85599792463026||3.0879743000000417||||1
Mars-sur-Allier
Location(s)
Story location Mars-sur-Allier
- ID
- 13708 / 140109
- Contributor
- Médiathèque municipale Jean Jaurès de Nevers
December 15, 1918
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