Letter from Mrs. Martin to Mrs. Guérin CF 63
December 30, 1870.
My dear sister,
I went today to Le Mans to look for Marie and Pauline; when I came back, I found your letter. Have you been sick again? As you say, this year has been bad for you, and it is fortunate that it is over. Everyone has their share, because we only see sadness and devastation, my heart aches. We are truly unhappy as we have never been.
But it's nothing yet in our cities, you have to go to Le Mans to get an idea of the desolation that this sad war causes. My sister told me things that bleed my heart; the poor sick die by the thousands, at the Hospice du Mans alone, up to eighty are buried a day and there are ambulances everywhere; the Lycée and all the Communities are obliged to have them.
A quarter of an hour before I arrived at the Visitation, the municipal authorities came to warn the nuns that they were going to send them thirty patients.
Judge of the boredom of these poor Sisters, they who have made a vow of closure! The whole Community was upside down. We went to find Monsignor to plead on their behalf, but I don't think there will be any way to escape it. They are going to be forced to break through walls, and block doors that lead into the Community, to maintain their enclosure.
They had decided that they would not give the children
to the parents, to be able to say that they had their boarders. As soon as I arrived, my sister wrote to me not to come and get mine, and she didn't want me to take them. You should have seen how the mother and the daughters were crying; Marie could no longer descend the stairs, she was leaning on the banister sobbing like a Madeleine.
Finally, they were left to me, but I was so gripped by it all that I am still saddened. I was only able to kiss the children when we were installed in the car. We fled from the Visitation as if we had been pursued by brigands! We hadn't decided until three o'clock to let us go, the trunks weren't ready and we had to be at the station at three forty! When we arrived, the train was crowded, we had to hand over a carriage for us, and we were lucky to be alone the whole time of the journey. So here we are back, but you see that it is not without difficulty!
Besides the forced ambulances of Le Mans, one sees the Red Cross in all the streets; almost all rich people have sick people in their homes, even Mrs. D. who received a soldier dying of dysentery. Smallpox also prevails on all sides.
At the Visitation, they had up to sixteen mobiles to lodge and feed in a private house. The thirty patients sent to them will also be at their expense. Last week, thirty patients were also transported to the Carmelite convent; as these poor Sisters could not lodge them, they were dropped off at their door and told: “Let them die there, if you want! So they were forced to take them.
It is said that there is a lot of bad will in these measures of the Municipalities, which do their worst to hinder the religious houses. Shouldn't we really except them? How can poor cloistered nuns be forced to house soldiers? I would think it fairer to force me to take in the sick than to send them to the Poor Clares, but at the moment they are angry with the convents.
I don't think the children are about to go back to boarding school, that's also my sister's opinion; I will certainly keep them for the duration of the war.
My little Celine has a rash on her face. She suffers a lot and we have to take care of her constantly; she can barely open her mouth. Doesn't my brother know of some effective remedy? If so, I would be very grateful if he could let me know.
I'm sending you very few things for New Year's gifts for my two little nieces: two little silver egg cups, but the year is not New Year's Eve.
