It would be useless to pretend that one entered Verdun without emotion,—­Verdun, sorely stricken, yet living, kept alive by the indomitable soul of the soldiers of France, whilst her wounds are daily treated and healed by the skill of her Generals.  A white city of desolation, scorched and battered, yet the brightest jewel in the crown of France’s glory; a shining example to the world of the triumph of human resistance and the courage of men.  A city of strange and cruel sounds.  The short, sharp bark of the 75’s, the boom of the death-dealing enemy guns, the shrieks of the shells and the fall of masonry parting from houses to which it had been attached for centuries, whilst from the shattered window frames the familiar sprite of the household looked ever for the children who came no longer across the thresholds of the homes.  Verdun is no longer a refuge for all that is good and beautiful and tender, and so the sounds of the voices of children and of birds are heard no more.  Both have flown; the children were evacuated with the civilians in the bitter months of February and March, and the birds, realising that there is no secure place in which to nest, have deserted not only Verdun but the whole of the surrounding district.

We proceeded to a terrace overlooking the lower part of the town and witnessed a duel between the French and German artillery.  The Germans were bombarding the barracks of Chevert, and from all around the French guns were replying.  It was certainly a joy to note that for one boom of a German cannon there were certainly ten answers from the French guns.  The French soldiers off duty should have been resting in the caves and dug-outs which have been prepared for them, but most of them were out on the terraces in different parts of the city, smoking and casually watching the effect of the German or of their own fire.  I enquired of one Poilu whether he would be glad to leave Verdun, and he laughingly replied:  “One might be worse off than here.  This is the time of year that in peace times I should have been staying in the country with my mother-in-law.”

There is no talk of peace in Verdun.  I asked one of the men when he thought the war would end.  “Perfectly simple to reply to that, Mademoiselle; the war will end the day that hostilities cease.”

I believe that the Germans would not be sorry to abandon the siege of Verdun.  In one of the French newspapers I saw the following verse: 

Boches, a l’univers votre zele importun
Fait des “communiques” dont personne n’est dupe. 
Vous dites:  “Nos soldats occuperont Verdun. 
Jusqu’ici c’est plutot Verdun qui les occupe.”

(You say that you soon will hold Verdun, Whilst really Verdun holds you.)

We left the car and climbed through the ruined streets to the top of the citadel.  No attempt has been made to remove any of the furniture or effects from the demolished houses.  In those houses from which only the front had been blown away the spoons and forks were in some instances still on the table, set ready for the meal that had been interrupted.