New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1917-01-07
THE CAFARD AT CHRISTMAS
By ANNE UELAND TAYLOR
Fornin. Ia " Ftg0rO'

| Paris, Dec. est has been black week,
the week before Christmas. Waves OF de-
preston and sickness and death have gone
over Paris. The streets are swept with icy
fingered rain. II Is worse than in the early
J days Of Verdun. That was tension, excite
ment This is inaction, interminable wait
ing, Reorganization. II is the reign Of lie
Cafard" What is the cafard? The name Of
the poilu for black thoughts.
This is what gives you the cafsrd:
You 20 out into the rain. You see long
procession of sick and wounded horses limp
ing down the Rue Vsugirard; at one side
pods bedrsggled soldier, keeping them 70
the road at the other woman whose head
is covered by long, wet, black veil. It is
the last march Of the horses. They are
going TO the abattoir.
On the pavement in front Of each doorway
that you pass there stands box of refuse.
Although il is mid-afternoon they have not
yet been emptiei and put decently out OF
sight Cack OF the main d'oeuvre'O. Even
line streets, like the Boulevard Raspail, are
bordered by these unsightly boxes, splitting
over with ashes, egg shells, old shoes, gar
slanting rain beats down on their crouching
old backs as they hide away in their gunny
sacks some precious morsels-bits Of half
burned coal coffee grounds. bones, broken
saucepans. Pickings arc not very famous,
and they dig their hands deep down into the
refuse, turning it over and over.
You see soldiers trudging to and from the
stations, going back to the trenches, loaded
down with blankets and kettles and loaves Of
wet bread on their broad backs, or coming
away from them, covered with dried mud 20
their necks.
Here you have TO step out into the gutter
because of the crowd on the sidewalk. There
are forty or fifty men and women-mostly
women-standing close together in the rain.
The women have shawls over their heads
that are soaked with the wet. Some of them
carry sacks, some have empty baby carriages,
some little doll perambulators. They are
waiting to get few pounds of coal at Ber-
nots. Further on you come to another pa
ticnt, miserable crowd only this time it is
before Potn's and they are waiting for sugar.
A funeral passes. A meagre, shabby little
funeral Of the seventh class, perhaps, or is
F it the fifth or sixth? Surely no funeral
could be more stripped Of pomp There are
no wreaths of flowers on the black draped
coffin. none of the extensively dreadful
wreaths and crosses Of wire violets and metal
+ lilies meant to defy the ravages of time and
weather; just one little bunch Of cheap
mimosa. Coming after trudge some mesgre,
shabby little people-a man. child in black,
/ four or five women whose noses are red be-
hind the black wells that trail down from
just the front part Of their hats. The little
funeral struggles out OF sight. The men in
/ the streets stop as tho hesrse passes and
uncover their heads, or salute il they are
soldiers, while the women make the sign OF
the cross on their breasts. Their faces, for
an instant, look scared and bleak.
/ Tho streets arc full Of funerals and the
cemeteries full OF the dead. 1t is not just
because you have tho cafard that you think
/ this, not just an "idee noirc' born Of the
weather, born Of the news, born Of the in
terminablo war. Il is a terrible fact. The
| little paragraph OF vital statistics shows
that in this week before Christmas there have
been LIB deaths in Paris. The week be-
/ fore there were only a few more than 500,
AID tAe week before Christmas last year only
a few more than 500. Eight hundred deaths
I.s enough Eleven hundred and seventy
three! There have been influenza, tubercu-
.osis, pneumonia. There has also been the
cafard. Many have died Of that
Christmas. On the bouevards stand bleak
little booths II: by candles or lamps that blow