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Carrie
LeFlore Perry
From: Sturm's Oklahoma Magazine (Jan. Feb 1911)
A Selected
Edition By Amanda L. Paige
Oklahoma City Times: Sturms
Magazine Section
My Dear Mother: I was so tired last evening
from the long hot journey from Rome I could not write. We were
traveling from eight a.m. until seven-thirty p.m., and as the
coaches lack the conveniences of American cars we were not very
comfortable, and when we entered the hotel in Genoa we looked far
more like a Negro minstrel troupe than respectable “Cookies.”
We counted seventy-five tunnels before we realized that the route
was “all tunnel.” The thick yellow dust was like a sand storm in
Oklahoma, and just as agreeable. I was disappointed that our
itinerary did not include a visit to the leaning tower of Pisa. As
we passed through that city we obtained an excellent view of it and
of course Ed sent you a post card. Ed and Miss L. were good angels,
by their fun keeping all of us in the best of spirits, even if the
trip did lack comfort. We had a little excitement at the noon house;
over here, there is an unwritten law for travelers that if an
occupant of a seat is called elsewhere, to retain it he must place
thereon an article belonging to him. Now to the tale: At a
certain station Mr. B. told us to enter the dining car; before
leaving the compartments we carefully complied with the law, yet
when we returned a woman and two men were coolly enjoying our seats.
We politely requested them to vacate, one man did so, the other, a
portly Italian with a tiny wife, decided to run a bluff. Mr. B.
tried persuasion, then called in the guard, that worthy explained
that Cook reserved those compartments, the Italian was unconvinced,
asserting that the seats were empty therefore he had the privilege
of taking them. The argument waxed hotter. You know how Ed loves a
scrap and he was valiantly assisting Mr. B. as the man was equally
conversant with French as with his native tongue. The guard advised
Mr. B. “to throw the intruder out.” The passage way was jammed
with our men and Italians. I looked for an “Irish fair”
disturbance, and when I saw Mr. B.’s blue eyes assume a frozen
glare, and the joyous smile come to the face of Ed, I knew it was
only a question of moments until the Italian was ejected forcibly. I
cried, “Oh, please do not throw him out.” My evident fear
arrested them, and after a few more exchanges of violent epithets
the man grabbed his trembling wife and left the compartment. Ed and
Mr. B. reproached me saying I had deprived them of a bit of
pleasure. I told them if it had been in any other country I would
not have feared the outcome, but here I had visions of daggers, and
I did not wish them mutilated, if not killed. I am glad it ended so
peaceably.
This being Sunday we arose early and attended
mass in the Cathedral of the Annunciation and returned in time to
breakfast with the party. Our number has sadly decreased and we are
to lose several within the next few days. I am sorry. At nine-thirty
we went to the beach in a street car, and there with difficulty
obtained bathing suits and were soon removing the dust of yesterday!
If it could be possible I would say the suits were funnier than
those used at Lido, the women were again monopolists, the Chinese
cut of coat and trousers using so much cloth that the suits of the
men were microscopic as to leg! As the coats were minus belts, I had
a strenuous half hour in the endeavor to keep mine within speaking
distance of the trousers. The beach is too full of deep holes, the
water too cold and the waves too fierce. I did not enjoy the dip. If
you leave the ropes you are told to wear a life preserver. Ed donned
one and had a glorious time tossed hither and thither, finding in
the violent exercise all the delights of a scrap! Mr. B. also
appeared to find in it too much pleasure, but the rest of us were
not very much enthusiastic.
This afternoon a conveyance on the tallyho
style was provided by Cook and with a guide we commenced our usual
diversion. I thought it would be fun to ride so high up but after
the second descent I begged a seat in the one carriage furnished.
Our guide today was a queer specimen, evidently believing he was the
whole show and that it was “his time to talk.” At the first
Cathedral we were met by the Sacristan or Sexton, I know not which,
who deemed it his duty and privilege to earn a gratuity by
explaining the beauties of the ancient edifice. Our Cook cicerone
waxed indignant and endeavored to out-talk him, then the fun
commenced, the men urging them on by questions, etc. Their English
was a queer mixture at best, and under the excitement fostered it
was quite marvelous, we had much trouble to keep from spoiling it
all by undue laughter. The tomb of John the Baptist was shown to the
men, women are not allowed to approach his resting place. I inquired
the reason and the Genoese replied: “No, No, St. John he losa his
heada because a woman aska for it, now not woman cana com-a near.”
At the next Cathedral the sexton and our guide almost came to blows
in their endeavor to out-do each other in explanations. Of course,
you know that the churches all contain masterpieces of art, yet I
cannot write one-third I see. We visited the house of Columbus, at
least the one so-called. The guide candidly informed us that the
best authorities concede Columbus was born in the hills. Carriages
are not permitted to traverse that street, and for a very good
reason, it is very steep and about the width of a small runabout.
This is one of the quaintest cities we have visited, the houses are
old, the streets up and down. There are many where the sun has not
entered for centuries and the only cleaning they have received is
when flushed by a rain. Italians have plenty of nose yet I think it
must be strictly ornamental affair; if not, how could they endure
all these odors? Ed sent you a couple of cards showing the dank
darkness and the clothes lines running across the narrow street from
the window to window, to the topmost story and the duly adorned with
the family wash. By the way, Sunday appears to be the favorite wash
day in Genoa; we have seen many women washing at public fountains
and washhouses. Ed explains it thus: they have only two suits, one
every-day, one Sunday; and as this is the day of the best the other
is cleaned for Monday! The Genoese women do not trouble about the
latest style in hats. They wear a tiny veil tied in a lovely bow
above their raven locks.
Having seen the Campo Santo, I am quite willing to declare it is the
grandest cemetery in the world. The tombs are of the finest marble
and ornamented with statuary and other work by the best of Italian
artists. Some are exquisite, others grotesque, all worthy of notice.
The guide with a dramatic gesture exclaimed: “Many who are here
dead are living yet.” It appears that you do not await death, to
have a tomb in Campo Santo. You have it made beforehand and thus you
are sure the inscription etc., will please you. A monument
representing an aged woman selling newspapers attracted our
attention. We were told it stood above the grave of a peasant woman,
who had earned the money to have it made by selling papers, and it
was a true likeness! The surrounding hills, with their beautiful
villas almost hidden by the trees, are very inviting, and with the
blue waters of the Mediterranean far below, it is little wonder
poets loved “La Superba” and that Shelley preferred it to
England. If I had lived here as did Columbus, I would have been so
satisfied I would never have faced the dangers of the deep in the
search for another hemisphere.
This is the first evening I have felt too tired to walk with Ed, he
is on the Plaza smoking and endeavoring to buy watches from a street
peddler. Tomorrow I shall have my breakfast in bed and rest until
eleven o’clock. We leave for Turin after twelve.
Your very tired daughter,
C.
1.
As Catholics, both Mrs. Perry and her husband would know that
in February of 1908 Pope Pius X granted a plenary indulgence if a
person ascended the stairs after confession or communion.
2.
The Queen-Mother referred to here is Queen Margherita, the
widow of King Umberto I of Italy. Their son Victor Emmanuel III is
the King mentioned here.
3.
The Swiss Guards have been serving the Popes of the Roman
Catholic Church since the beginning of the 16th Century.
It has been a tradition that Michaelangelo designed their uniforms;
however, there is little basis to this.
Turin
My Dearest Mother: Another long, hot railroad
journey only rendered tolerable by the good humor of the members of
the party and the kindly services of Mr. B. We have been told this
is the cleanest and most modern city in Italy. I am quite sorry as I
would have to leave Italia with the flavor of romance unchanged.
After dinner the usual walk, but the shops did
not prove so attractive, too modern, you know, and I was quite glad
to “turn in.” I truly have nothing to write this evening, yet I
could not resist the desire to speak with you. We drive tomorrow
from nine until twelve and at noon I shall finish this. Our room is
so immense and the distance between the beds so great that I am
afraid that I shall dream of burglars and ghosts. Good night,
mother, the very nicest mother in all the world!
August 4:
In handsome, rubber-tired rigs, behind spirited horses, we have been
doing the metropolis of Italy! It is truly a magnificent city, with
broad streets, handsome houses, modern monuments and an air of busy
activity entirely out of keeping with the country; why, even the
river tries to hurry! I cannot say I am charmed. I like its
cleanliness, yet it has no allurement for me; perhaps it is ideal
for residence. Now, I have been longing for a “clean Italy” and
when I find a spot where Sapolio is evidently known, I begin to
offer objections. We visited the palace of the Queen-mother first,
and found it more up to date than any we have yet seen, and again I
was disappointed at the want of age! The state apartments are
gorgeous, yet I prefer the subdued splendor of the semi-private
rooms. The pillows of the bed were of cotton. What is the use of
being a queen if you cannot have feather pillows! The oratory is
such a quiet place, I know the Queen-Mother must find prayer in
these very comforting. From the palace to the church, just a short
distance, here we viewed the superb casket containing the great
religious treasure of Turin, that is the sheet wherein our Lord’s
body was wrapped when taken from the cross. It is said to bear the
visible imprint of his body, and is shown only every hundredth year,
and when a prince of the house of Savoy1 is wedded. The
guide informed us that once he had seen it, that the people
commenced filing before it at seven o’clock in the morning and at
nightfall the crowd was seemingly undiminished!
We drove to Monte dei Cappucini, and made the
ascent in a little car, and viewed the city. It was a panorama of
clean streets, large houses, winding Po and waving trees. The shops
are large and with the air of well-doing that recalls America. Ed
did not care for them; said they lacked “local color.” A letter
from sister was received today. Please tell her that these lengthy
letters to you require so much of my time, that I cannot write to
her very frequently. I know that she will pardon me. Tell her
that these are for her, also. We leave for Geneva this afternoon. I
am sorry, indeed, to bid farewell to Italia, and even the thought of
the feather pillows and cold, cold water that awaits me in
Switzerland cannot reconcile me to this parting.
Ed is calling “all aboard,” let me kiss you good bye dear
mother, and be off.
Lovingly,
C.
1.
The House of Savoy was the name of the family who ruled Italy
from 1861 until 1946.
Geneva
My Mother:
We arrived here too late to see anything of the
city:; indeed, we are all so tired that a bed, with feather pillows,
seems the most desirable thing in the world. Ed is already sleeping
audibly, and I am just resting previous to seeking slumberland. We
were served dinner at a little station in the mountains and I
enjoyed it far more than the usual meals served en route because I
was out of the train and stationary. We passed tunnel after tunnel
and now the road to and from Italy, in my mind, seems one continuous
tunnel! When we reached the frontier we were ordered into the
station and the compartments were thoroughly searched. I heard they
were looking for tobacco and as Ed had smoked his last Italian cigar
I was not uneasy. Our trunks were not carelessly and ruthlessly
overhauled, the magic word “cook” was spoken and we were very
courteously treated. The cool air of Switzerland was very welcome
and we rejoiced to see her snow capped mountains and rushing
torrents once more. The hour of sunset was so gorgeous that only a
guide book can do justice.
We had quite a “singin’ skule” this
evening Ed and Miss L were the masters and the music produced was
inspiriting if not up to grand opera standards. We are feeling blue
at the prospect of parting so soon, we have been such friends we
hate to think the partings are coming one by one. Ed declares he is
going to arise early and milk a goat before breakfast. Of course, I
must assist him, so here is a fond good night to you, mother of
mine.
August 5:
Just from the opera house, where we have
enjoyed (?) a very bum comedy. Why we would consider it poor away
out west. The orchestra, under the leadership of a Negro, was the
only redeeming feature. The expression of the minister’s face was
good to see. He had accompanied Miss L and thus he felt doubly
shocked. We had planned to view the illumination, but a storm came
up and it was postponed. All the fancy decorations were destroyed by
the rain, and finding the evening before us unoccupied, we decided
to try a play. Sorry we did, I assure you.
As the usual hour the carriages were at the
door and we were off. We are an unusually prompt crowd; it is seldom
we are delayed. Today we enjoyed the unique sensation of visiting a
Protestant cathedral, St. Peter’s. You see, all along our route
Catholicism has been in the ascendant, since leaving England,
therefore, the noted places of worship have been Catholic. This
cathedral dates before the Reformation and has great somber beauty,
yet I felt that it was lonely. It surly misses the Blessed
Sacrament! In the Chapel of the Transept a statue of Duke
Henri de Rohan, a protestant leader is shown. It is not far from St.
Peter’s to the Russian church and here I felt, indeed, a stranger.
I was not impressed by its beauty or magnificence, only its
queerness. It truly has a Muscovite air, and radiates the spirit of
Russia. The icons were interesting, yet I did not find the chief
representation of the face of Christ very attractive.
In the Hotel de Ville we were shown a portrait of Marie Leczinska,1
which would have amply repaid us for the visit, if we had not
entered the room where the Alabama claims2were adjusted
and viewed the peaceful plow made of swords used in battle. The
stairway is interesting because it is just an inclined way, so
prepared that the magistrates in ye olden day might be carried up in
their litters. The yellow robes of the members were on racks in a
room off the main assembly chamber, and it was not in man’s nature
to resist trying them on when the woman guide was afar. The two boys
looked very handsome and we voted them in on the spot. I wish I had
a gown of that shade!
The powerhouse with its twenty turbines greatly
please Ed, but I could not appreciate its ceaseless roar—made my
head ache. The drinking water furnished is said to be the purest in
Europe. I know it is excellent. We went down a lovely path to a
terrace, where we obtained an excellent view of the Rhone and the
Arve the blue current and the dark rushing side by side for over a
mile before the waters are commingled. Like a long courtship which
eventually ends in matrimony. We were given a lengthy ride along the
lake and shown the Brunswick monument and the Rousseau statue and we
watched the many boats filled with pleasure seekers; Ed belonged to
one, but I was quite pleased with a carriage. The far-off mountains
in their everlasting white formed an exquisite background for the
blue waters of the lake. Do you know, mother, that you cannot
imagine a blue quite so pleasing as the tint of this water? Angels
must have painted it! Tonight when the storm lashed it to fury and
the lightning flashed and the thunder pealed like minute guns, I
could not believe we were beside the placid, unruffled lake of
today. Ed would have liked a boat trip, but I so feared an attack of
sea sickness that I refused to go, urging him to go with the others.
He would not so we visited the watch factory of Vacheron and
Constantine, established in 1785, and it was there the first watches
were made by machinery in the world, in 1828, so we were informed by
an obliging attendant. Ed was pleased with the exhibits, but I
enjoyed it only because he did. From here we walked down the Grand
Quai and entered several of the shops to see the jewelry for which
Geneva is also noted. Ed found that there is no “jewing.” The
price is fixed and there is no display of talent in bargaining. We
purchased a lovely enameled spoon; it is the prettiest of my
collection. I am very proud of it and so will Mary be some day, eh?
We were told this Protestant Rome is increasing
in Catholic population. If Calvin could return to his former home he
would tear his hair in rage.
We say good bye to feather covers tonight, they are not used in
Paris. O dear, why must we move on! I am so tired, I would enjoy a
long rest yet for that I must wait until in Oklahoma. Surely a
letter from you awaits me in Paris. I am anxious to know all about
you and the family. How are my cats? You have not mentioned them.
Good bye mother best.
C.
- Marie Leczinska, daughter of
the exiled King of Poland, was the wife of Louis XV of France.
- During the American Civil
War, Great Britain had aided the Confederate side. The Alabama
was a Confederate cruiser built and equipped with British aid
that had damaged Northern merchant ships during the war.
Representatives for the U.S., Great Britain, and three neutral
nations met in Geneva in 1871 to settle the claims by the U.S.
My Dear Mother: We left Geneva at 10 a.m., and
reached this city at 11 p.m. A long trying day, yet the country
through which we passed was so attractive we longed to leave the
beaten track and visit provincial France. Hardly did we reach the
hotel, when several of the party sought the gay streets, we were so
tired, to explore did not tempt us. We are located near Aved ’la
Opera, and in one of the best shopping districts, the hotel is very
poor, the rooms lacking in conveniences, and the table lacking in
food. If the dinner does not far surpass luncheon and breakfast, we
shall be obliged to seek a café to still the pangs of hunger. This
is our very first opportunity to complain of Thos. Cook & Sons.
No rubber tired carriages for us here, a conveyance is used, large
enough to hold the entire party. I am so sorry, I am quite stiff
from climbing in and out of the vehicle. You know mother how great
has always been my desire to visit the tomb of Napoleon, so when we
swung through the beautiful shaded streets, on our way to the Hotel
des Invalides I was so engrossed with that wish that I missed the
explanations of the guide.
Past the Arch of Triumph, the Place de la
Concorde where stand eight allegorical figures representing the
chief cities of the Republic. Strasbourg is draped in mourning
for la belle France yet mourns her fair daughter; past the Vendome
column built of captured cannon and surmounted by a statue of
Napoleon then before us the Hotel des Invalides.
Not in the church all hung with battle flags, but beneath the
monster dome he sleeps. A giant red granite sarcophagus, with mosaic
wreaths commemorating his victories, contains the dust of the Man of
Destiny. How the tears fell as I stood there, and ever uppermost the
thought, did the belated honors heaped upon his poor ashes
compensate for the lonely years of exile, the twenty years in an
unadorned grave?
The Louvre is a fairyland of art, a grand
surplus of pictures and statuary, but not a chair! The hall of Venus
de Milo is almost worthy of that radiant goddess, and the Salon
larre, where hang the work of the world’s best masters, is fairly
bewildering. Leonardo da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” was my lode star.
I could not rest
until I reached her, and now I shall never rest
for dreaming of her smile! Titian’s “Laura Dianti” gained
Ed’s attention by the gorgeous tints of her hair and the wonderful
attraction of her face. Murillo’s “Immaculate Conception”
alone, was worth the fatigue of that hour. The “Winged Victory of
Samothrace” stands at the head of a stair case leading upward, and
you verily believe you see the wind lifting the draperies. We were
before so many celebrated paintings in that short time I did not try
to remember them, yet perhaps my sub-conscious self has retained a
few and in the future, will produce them for my enjoyment.
In the Luxembourg Ed and preferred to linger in
the hall of statuary, as the pure white was such a relief after the
myriad of colors of the Louvre. We were enchanted with Croissy’s
“The Nest,” the little tots in the great chair asleep are so
human, “Pau and the Bears,” amused Ed, he declared the fellow
was so evidently enjoying himself. “The Kiss” of Rodin’s
is a long drawn out affair. We came up with our people before
Whistler’s “Portrait of His Mother” and heard the guide say
“The Luxembourg is called the house of trial, the works of living
artists are placed here, and if after the lapse of ten years they
are deemed worth of the honor are then removed to the Louvre or to
galleries in the provinces.”
The Palace of the Trocadero was next visited.
There we didn’t linger, just entered the famed concert hall and at
the request of the party I recited a little poem in Choctaw to show
the remarkable acoustics of this vast room. Of course the audience
was duly enthusiastic. We are going out again this afternoon.
You see our luncheon was so meagre I have had plenty of time to
converse with you.
Just finished dinner yet I am hungry! This service is abominable. We
are waiting for Paris to get wide awake then we are off to enjoy her
frivolity.
The men have deserted us this evening, off with
a guide to “see the sights.” Ed declared he preferred the
society of American ladies, so every one of us are to be escorted by
him this evening.
We devoted the afternoon to cathedrals, the first to Notre Dame, the
great portals are so magnificent that with difficulty I left them.
Just think, we stood where kings have been baptized, crowned,
married and from here taken to their final resting place! Hats
suspended from the ceiling attracted my attention, in answer to my
inquiry the guide replied, “When a cardinal dies, he hangs up his
hat in Notre Dame, and goes to heaven.”
From Cathedral to Palace of Justice, a monster building yet not
particularly interesting, then to the exquisite chapel built by
Louis IX to receive the sacred relics from Palestine. This little
church has oft been threatened, and even partly destroyed by fire,
yet is so well restored, it is now as it was when the dear St. Louis
worshipped there. The rose window is considered one of the best
extant.
The Madeleine, Paris’ famed modern church
delights the eye with its many columns and magnificent portico, it
is like the Greek temples. It is sad for a Catholic in “La Belle
France,” you cannot keep from thinking hard thoughts of a
government that openly boasts Christ has been driven from the
schools and must eventually leave the country.
We crossed the Alexander bridge, the largest
and finest that spans the Seine, then a short drive in the Bois de
Boulogne, the playground of all Paris, gave to us the needed change
from pictures and monuments. In the streets, the trees are a russet
brown, just as if they were tired of summer and would don their
autumn robes, the guide said “no” they were always that color.
Well, I do not like it, I prefer green trees.
Mother, it is so late, I dare not whisper the hour, yet the streets
are filled with pleasure seekers, only a few seem to have gone home.
We attended a garden theater where a light opera was given, the
singing was good, the gowns magnificent, the dancing excellent, as
not one of us except Ed could understand the dialogue, we were quite
content, Ed whispered that he had a blush warranted not to fade. We
peeped at Maxim’s giddy place, but Ed bade us pass on, his purse
could not stand the strain. We were soon installed at little tables
on the sidewalk, watching the strenuous pursuit of the Goddess of
Pleasure. It was with difficulty that we convinced ourselves it was
time to sleep if we wished to enjoy the drive to Versailles. Ed
wishes me to be careful not to write you too much concerning our
evenings in Paris. You might be shocked! I love you my dearest
mother.
Saturday
The dear Lord furnished sunshine and refreshing
breezes, Cooks and Sons a crazy vehicle with fine horses and an
accommodating coachman, so, with our good Mr. B. to guard us, we
found the excursion to Versailles almost ideal. One cannot tire of
the streets of this city, they were surely fashioned to entice the
population to live out of doors. It is strange that we do not see
many children—where are the jolly little fewllos, who in all other
places have followed us? Here we have beggars galore, but they are
not children. Ed misses the little tots so much says he cannot
be happy here without his ragamuffin friends! When our conveyance
would halt at a wayside inn, to enable the driver and guide to
quench their unquenchable thirst, we would be surrounded by
unfortunate beggars, vying in the endeavor to expose to us loathsome
sores or hideous deformities. Ed tried to shield me, but I could not
keep my eyes always closed, and oh the horrors! Truly the Parisian
beggar is more loathsome than his Italian brother, if that is
possible.
We were served luncheon before entering the
palace, a blessed forethought, for those miles of rooms on an empty
stomach would have a dreary task. We were served “American pie”
for dessert, thank heaven, I have never chanced to meet it in the
U.S.A.! I cannot say I like Parisian meals—they are too
“skimpy.” If we dare wish for a tiny bit more we are met
with “It is all used.” Ed says the man in charge sizes us up,
and woe betide you if your appetite exceeds your appearance!
The Versailles Palace suffered in the days when
the government was overthrown, yet its magnificence is little
dimmed. It is filled with objects of surpassing interest and you
pass from apartment to apartment with a feeling that you are walking
in a lovely dream. Such gorgeous rooms, such beds with coverings of
silk and satin, did the occupant sleep more soundly because of this
state? The apartments of Louis XIV are truly regal befitting the
grand monarch, yet I prefer the simple rooms of Napoleon. We were
shown the rooms prepared many years ago for the young Queen
Victoria, yet not occupied by her, she declaring they were too
gorgeous. The guide said, the real reason was because the suite once
belonged to Madam Maintenon! The Gallery of Battles is a monster
hall four hundred feet in length, the walls covered by paintings
depicting French victories on land and sea, from Charlemagne to
Napoleon. I felt at home in this as I have been so well drilled in
the glories of France. There is a gorgeous room in the palace, the
ceiling painted by Labrior and representing the victories of Louis
XIV, so charming did I find it that I did not complain of the hurt
to my neck, although I do think it would have been more considerate
to use the four walls! In one room we were shown the cameo
sent by the Queen of Naples to Marie Antoinette. I found more beauty
in it than the Regent. I was glad when we went in to the gardens my
mind was in a queer jumble of Trianon, coach houses, state
equipages, Louis XIV, Madam Maintenon, Don Louis le Valliere, Marie
Antoinette, the lost Dauphin, the hordes of the revolution, monster
state beds, and miles of pictures! Until I can reduce all that to
order how can I write interestingly of Versailles? I think it is
Napoleon who confuses me, he looms so large I found it difficult to
turn long enough from contemplating him to inspect the glory of
others. The grounds are dreams of loveliness, and chairs may be used
for one penny, so I hastened to occupy one. Ed strolled here, there
and everywhere, but I was content to sit and bask in the sunlight,
inhaling the sweet scents, enjoying the beautiful expanse. It was
dusk when we turned into the Avenue de l’Opera, that building
looming mightily and inviting us to enter. We have tickets for
William Tell next week, of that later. This is our last day with a
guide, after this we “go it alone.” Cook is wise, he wishes his
lady tourists to have several days for the world-renowned shops. Did
I tell you Mr. B. left us the first morning in Paris, he is off on a
three weeks jaunt in England and Scotland by himself.
This evening we have invited Miss L to join us
and we are going again to turn night into day. Mother, how would you
describe pleasures so giddy as those of this city. Ed says to be
sure to tell you that we have dragged him to many a place of which
you would disapprove. He says we have an advantage over him in this
naughty city, we can enjoy the well-appointed stage, the exquisitely
gowned creatures, the fine voices with never a blush, whereas, he is
assuming a brick dust hue, and his ears tingle. Mother, I am so
sleepy, my eyes are closing, let me wish you sweet dreams of me.
Sunday in Paris
I am convinced that Paris is bewitched and has power to cast the
spell over even her transient inhabitants! Not only do bona fide
Parisians regard the commandments as obsolete but you see men and
women bearing the impress of generations of puritanical ancestors
turning the Sabbath into a day of revelry! Pleasure calls, none so
deaf they cannot hear.
We attended high mass at the Church of St.
Eustache noted for its fine music. This must have been an off day,
as the singing was quite good, yet not of a character to make you
tremble with rapture. It is a magnificent structure, and as usual in
Catholic countries, men of genius consider it an honor to beautify
it. This cannot be Catholic France. “The eldest daughter of the
church” with her gendarmes controlled places of worship, her
vacant convents and monasteries! Her Lord, only tolerated on altars,
where once He reposed in regal state! Will hot-headed,
impetuous France, blown hither and thither by bursts of passion,
never open her eyes to the enormity of her crime against the gentle
Christ?
This afternoon, with a few of the tourists we
visited Eiffel Tower. We wished Mr. B. to accompany us, but he was
personally conducting two ladies from Denver. We think a romance is
brewing, if not, it is a great flirtation. Ed will give you the
figures concerning this tower. I can only explain, “Law chile, dat
house be monstrous tall and mighty big.” The topmost landing but
one is quite large, and with its many booths and many “barkers”
it recalls a street fair. We bought little cakes, tried the
fortune-telling machines, had our profiles cut from paper, looked
through glasses at the city below, and if we could have found
chewing gum and popcorn we would have felt quite at home. I thought
Ed and several of the number would never tire of the maps and
glasses, they seemed determined to master the plan of the city. When
we reached the earth we decided to visit the zoological gardens. The
drive was so satisfactory, I would have preferred to continue it. As
all seemed desirous of paying their respects to the animals, I did
not suggest it. We found vast crowds filling the open space and
attending the side shows—it recalled a circus day to me. I walked
until my feet felt as if they were of enormous size and weighed a
ton, and a rocking chair with a foot stool would have been a
paradise.
Ed made friends with the animals and tried to charm the few children
abroad, the latter were so different, so shy, they do not take
kindly to attention from grown-ups. I believe I like our children
best, even if American youngsters are considered the worst in the
world. I refuse to believe it, so there. When we turned toward
the exit I was so fatigued I could with difficulty walk. Ed was
greatly troubled, but I managed to reach the gateway, and it was
like the open door to heaven to see the cab awaiting me, the luxury
of those cushions, the delight of the rubber tires after hours of
walking and standing!
We drove until the streets were illuminated, just enjoying the fine
equipages, the well-gowned women, the dapper men, and the festive
air over all. It is hard to realize that poverty stalks within the
city gates, that crime is everywhere rampant.
I am weary this evening, so we have not had our usual walk or drive.
I am truly eager for the car to slumberland. Good night, sing me a
lullaby mother darling.
Mother
My me, this has been the most trying day of
this entire trip, only the desire to hear “William Tell” keeps
me from going to bed this very minute. Do I hear you ask the cause
of my distress? One word, clothes! O dear, why such complicated
garments or having to wear them why change the style so
frequently? Oh for the days of Greece, and the flowing garment that
was always “the style.” I have looked at gowns until my brain
reels, and I am ready to fly to an island where clothes are unknown.
Ed had a thoroughly good time really found pleasure in the display
and in the chatting with salesmen and girls. If he had not upheld
me, I would have cut the whole thing, hailed a cab and driven to the
uttermost parts of Paris, feeling that it would be far easier to
answer the questions, bear the surprised looks of my friends when I
returned to Oklahoma from this mecca of fashion, without gowns than
to suffer the pangs of shopping! He pulled me through and purchased
many things, whether beautiful or not, I care little, he is pleased,
and I am quite willing to escape.
The great department stores are not so well
appointed as those of the U.S. Ed purchased so many hat pins, etc.,
that our fate is sealed, the custom officers will never believe he
is “only a politician.” They will be sure he is the owner of a
notion store! In many of the shops we noticed a tendency to be
discourteous to Americans, at one place where we were purchasing
gloves the attendant was quite rude. The first glove, I
objected to the fit, he jerked it off so vehemently that my thumb
was hurt. Ed warned him to be careful. The next had a large rent in
it to which I called his attention—again my hand was roughly
jerked, and with his usual impatience. Ed demonstrated quietly. When
the third proved defective and I refused to consider it the
attendant lost his temper and as he turned away consigned all
Americans to a warmer clime. Then, that husband of mine addressed
him in French, and his remarks must have been very convincing for
the man humbly apologized and assured “the hurt to Madame’s hand
was unavoidable.” Two American ladies beside us were having great
trouble with the salesman. Ed said he was using “cuss words”
quite fluently, so he gallantly addressed his “fellow citizens”
and offered assistance. They were quite pleased and poured forth
their tale of woe. Ed made a little speech in French to the man
which brought him quickly to time. Dear me, that blessed husband of
mine is a true knight-errant, no damsel need go unaided if he is
nearby. The dislike of Americans is universal over here, you feel
the animosity everywhere; we are only fawned upon for the money we
scatter so lavishly.
I wish you could see me mother mine. I have
been to the hair dresser and my tresses are most becomingly arranged
and greatly augmented. Ed said when I emerged from beneath the
skilled hands of the man, “Gee. I am well pleased with the outlay,
yet, what an enormous increase in the value of your head.” I am
glad today is over, and if tomorrow proves as trying I shall gladly
leave for London.
Tuesday
The opera was enjoyable, even if we did not
hear noted artists in the cast. I consider the view of the interior
of the grand stair case alone, worth the price. I do not like women
ushers, they are so disagreeable, why do American managers wish to
introduce them? The tips demanded are enormous, you never know when
you have finished. Programmes are sold by the ushers. Between acts
the audience leave their seats and show their fine garments in the
vast halls. I was content to watch the parade from above, but Miss
L. and Ed joined the throng and returned with tales of Americans
staring at Americans, thinking they were gazing upon Parisian
leaders of fashion. You know at this season of the year Paris is
deserted by her residents, only the shop keepers and hotel
proprietors remain to fleece the tourists.
Today has been spent in doing all sorts of things, driving in the
Bois de Boulogne, about the Latin Quarter, in the region made famous
by the immortal lovers, Heloise and Abelard, crossing many times the
Seine, penetrating into parts where the city is not beautiful, then
passing from one fair monument to another here, the Maid of Orleans,
there the Column de Juillet that rises, where one lowered the old
Bastille, always finding food for thought, and something to delight
the eye. Historic Paris, what piteous imagination paints, if only
the river, the stones could speak, what tales would they unfold, for
I know the real far surpassed all we can dream.
I do not like the shop keepers, and I miss the children; where are
the babies of the poor? The churches are sad, tears are too near the
laughter; too many tourists, the beggars are not picturesque. I am
disappointed. I had expected to be enamored of Paris.
A “wee sma’ hour;” guess which one? We
are just home from an evening spent in the pursuit of the airy fairy
nymph sometimes called Pleasure. The proprietor gave Ed the names of
several resorts considered “perfectly respectable.” Anglo-Saxon
ideas of respectability and the French differ so widely! We saw many
Americans evidently imbued with the idea they were doing something
“delightfully wicked.” Indeed, I overheard one elderly lady with
a Y.W.C.A. air, say in answer to the question of refreshments,
“Yes, and I’ll take a glass of beer. I am seeing Paris, and I
shall go the limit.” Dear soul from the little town in the U.S.
where beer drinking and card playing are capital crimes, she thought
she was being wildly dissipated!
At first, the music, the glitter, the lovely
faces, the sweet laughter charmed me, then after a time I saw this
was a mask and beneath were many things! Poor, fluttering moths,
enjoying their few short days filled with light; then the long,
long, walk in the darkness, hand in hand with poverty and futile
remorse. Mother, this is a city where it is bad for your peace of
mind, to think, one must accept without question, and let the
curtain hide the grewsome [sic] skeletons, thronging the festive
halls.
Until we are in smoky London town I must bid you “au revoir.” O,
do please greet me there with stacks of letters! My best love to the
boys. I appreciate their dear letters, and have written them this
very day. Mother I am a tiny bit homesick for your arms, the
distance seems so great, I cannot hear you whisper, do speak louder.
Or, perhaps, it is the din of this modern Babylon. When I am
“under the shadow of Westminster” shall I hear you!
Lovingly,
C.
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