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Carrie
LeFlore Perry
From: Sturm's Oklahoma Magazine (Jan. Feb 1911)
A Selected
Edition By Amanda L. Paige
The Hague
As in Brussels, we have only half a day to devote to this
capital city of Holland. I regret this very much, but our time in Europe is far
too short to do justice to any one city. Like our humming bird, we shall sip
from many a flower to produce the honey of this summer. We were obliged to
consume the morning on the train. The country through which we passed had the
charm of novelty, canals, wind mills, cows knee deep in luscious grass, and
gardens like unto flower beds This afternoon carriages were placed at our
disposal and a guide furnished. The streets are charming, and the many quaintly
costumed women and children add to the picture. I wonder how the women produce
that wonderfully bouffant condition of skirts, is it a hoop or numerous
petticoats? The children do not seem hampered by their wooden shoes, they
“klump, klump” merrily along with their dear sunshiny faces, just typical Dutch
dolls.
The House in the Woods is all one could wish for a quaint
retreat, yet I believe after a few months of residence there I would welcome
war. We were shown the treasures by a woman who evidently loved the palace, but
was too given to minute detail to be a pleasing narrator. Mr. B. was in our
carriage, also Mr. R., from Montreal. Ed and the latter persisted on bowing to
every pretty girl we passed. Noticing how much attention we attracted I asked
Mr. B. the cause of it, and he informed me that we were regarded as a wedding
party. Ed was hugely delighted, and thereafter would toss pennies to the
children to hear them wish us happiness.
The old Spanish prison, with its many instruments of
torture, caused me to exclaim: “Why American Indians were novices in the art of
torture.” Ed can tell you all you wish to know concerning the devices, for I
detected him actually trying a stretching machine. Think of the fiendishness
that starved men in a room filled with tantalizing odors from the kitchen, or
roasted them alive, or varied that by rendering them insane with dropping water.
One of the torture chambers boasts a floor of over six hundred years of age. Can
you bear to think of the weary feet that have pressed that oak? I could write
pages of the horrors therein, yet why should I? Alva is dead and so are all the
others, just and unjust, let those who may slumber in peace.
We reached the Art Gallery just before the great doors
were closed, so we did that building with cyclonic speed. I only saw two
paintings, Rembrandt’s “Lessons in Anatomy,” and Murillo’s “Madonna and Child.”
Do not expect me to criticize works of art, I feel my inability to do so. I can
only say I like or do not like. In the Houses of Parliament we sat comfortably
in the seats of members while the woman in charge explained the beauties of the
ceiling. This city was truly a worthy setting for the peace conference, it has
such an air of contentment and well doing.
The drive to Scheveningen1 was a continuous
succession of beautiful streets and shady lanes. The long promenade must be
fascinating when the fashionable are parading there. It was too late for bathing
when we arrived at the beach, so we were content with fifteen minutes on the
sands. Ed is sending you a post card he purchased from a little boy who was
afterwards arrested for selling post cards without a license. I felt so sorry
for the little man, as he was taken off the beach sobbing dismally. After dinner
we visited quite a number of shops and I purchased a love of a Dutch spoon for
my collection. So many people, all out seemingly on pleasure bent, I could have
walked the brilliantly lighted streets for hours if my body could stand so much
exertion as my spirit. The streets are so broad and handsome, it must be a
lovely city in which to live. What would I do without Ed? His knowledge of
French increases our pleasure and comfort.
If you remember, John requested his uncle to write him of
the boys in other lands. Well, Ed is preparing to send him quite an epistle,
urge John to reply immediately. Have you a post card album? If not, do send for
one, Ed is determined to mail you cards of all places he considers interesting.
I confess to being very tired tonight, I have not fully recovered from the
passage to Antwerp.
I enjoyed quite a lengthy conversation with two ladies of
the party, sisters from Denver. They felt like “people from home.” Good night,
Mother, I must rest. It is fascinating to write to you, but is it not wise to
exercise moderation in all things?
Lovingly,
C.
1.
Scheveningen is a seaside resort on the Western coast of the Netherlands.
Amsterdam
My Very Dear Mother:
The trip from the Hague to this city only occupied about
one hour. The scenery was so novel I found it within my heart to wish the
distance greater. The giant windmills, so unlike our western ones, although, do
you know, we saw two American ones twirling busily, aggressively, completely out
of tone with their surroundings. The possessors lack artistic feeling, otherwise
they could not tolerate the incongruity. The many canals, the slowly moving
boats, the sleek lazily browsing cows, the low lying fields and the busy
workers, all form a picture as from a book of toy land.
Amsterdam is called the “Venice of the North,” because of
the numerous canals and bridges. I am not greatly pleased, I object to the musty
odors and would suggest the women’s club order the canals thoroughly cleansed
with sapolio1 and place trash receptacles everywhere, forbidding the
use of the canals for that purpose. After lunch we went on an excursion to the
Island of Marken,2 and as we did not have many hours at our disposal,
I am pleased to state that the greater part of the trip was by tram-car. The
boat from the last village afar out from the city was the slowest thing it has
ever been my misfortune to use as a means of travel. Truly I think it was a
model of the age of Noah. We were met by almost the entire population of the
island, given a hearty welcome, and an outstretched hand begging money.
The costumes are quaint, with their voluminous skirt,
tightly laced bodices, brilliant apron and close fitting cap. From before the
ears hang two curls of whatever length the possessor can coax them to become.
The boys and girls are dressed alike, except shape of cap, until about the age
of seven. If you are in doubt as to the sex of the child, examine the cap. Plain
spells girl, round piece in crown, boy. One little girl with long flaxen curls
and a mop of hair escaping her little cap seemed to fancy me, and walked holding
my hand. After a while she shyly whispered, “please buy my hair.” I asked her
what I should do with it, and she said, “ wear it.” The raven hue of my own
locks did not appear to her a reason for not wearing her hair. Ed caught the
little thing and insisted that she sell him her two curls. How frightened she
appeared, gasping hurriedly, “ no, no, only back hair.” It was told us that they
never dispose of those as there is disgrace attached to their absence. We were
invited to enter several houses and urged to purchase souvenirs, the owners
offering all sorts of household goods for sale. One old lady displayed a
gorgeous bed, in which she said her gracious queen had slept. I trust the royal
lady’s rest was unbroken; as for me I prefer a bed a little less like a
cupboard. Truly the sleeping places are just like closets in the wall. How they
are ventilated I know not. A very elaborate wedding trousseau Friesland style
was shown to us and said to be the property of Queen Wilhelmina. A young fellow
in white linen bloomers was our guide, and he informed us the islanders were
very poor, finding existence barely possible with a bounty from the government
and the gifts of tourists. The women do the field and housework, and the men ply
the fishing boats. The beauty of the village was introduced to us, but not one
of our party became infatuated. Her figure left much to be desired, and her
features were heavy. Her complexion and flaxen curls were her only charms. The
women are broad of shoulder, flat breasted, of medium height and without a waist
line. There is nothing delicately feminine about them.
I was rather glad when the whistle bade us go aboard the
boat, as the odor of the stale fish was over powering. Do you know that old tub
was so slow that we missed the car to Amsterdam, and were obliged to wait in the
little village for more than an hour. The numerous youngsters were delighted and
established themselves as our rear guard first, but soon invaded our ranks,
considering us as their prey.
We wandered about the canals watching the fishing boats
unload. One cargo of eels caused me to give an unearthly screech and
convulsively grab Ed. The boys were so amused. They could not understand my
fear. Thereafter, whenever eels appeared, one little mimic would scream
affrightedly and clutch his friend, thus giving joy to them all. The most
disreputable specimen, with dirty face, cross eyes, turned-up nose, wide mouth,
freckles galore, dressed in old trousers miles too big, the same hitched up with
a lone strap, and a tattered coat, was the leader of the band. He found Ed very
fascinating and no amount of “shooing” could force him from us, so we were
regaled with tales and witticisms in the queerest of English. Ed asked his name.
The answer flashed: “Huckleberry Finn,” his pal was “Tom Sawyer.” Evidently
Americans had assisted in their education. (?)
We desired to enter the ancient church, but the woman who
kept the key had gone to Amsterdam and neglected to leave it. The men induced
the boys to run races and wrestle for pennies. The noise of the wooden shoes and
the shrill voices of the children proved trying to me, and I walked beside a
near by canal, wishing for a pin and a string, the fish were so saucy, leaping
everywhere. A herd of cows from the other side eyed me in mild surprise, and a
lordly bull tossed his head and dared me to come over. The day was waning when
we entered the car, hence we passed many men milking the placid cows beside the
canals.
The cows have magnificent udders and appear very gentle.
Sister would delight to have one of the sleek beauties.
After dinner we were ready for new adventures and were
glad to accept the invitation extended by Ed to show us the streets by night.
Three of the young ladies accompanied us. Before leaving the hotel I asked the
clerk if it would be all right for us to go without our hats, and he replied,
“certainly, many Americans do.”
Ed walked with two ladies, I followed with the third. We
had not progressed far in the crowded street when we were separated quite a
distance. Two well dressed men approached and said something in French, and then
in English, “Girls, where are your hats?” We hurried forward but they smilingly
persisted, “where are your hats?” just then Ed turned and called, “hurry, we are
waiting.” The two quickly disappeared in the throng. We have learned our lesson,
hereafter we wear hats. I am rather indignant with the clerk. Of course I know
Americans go without hats; I wish to know the custom of this country. Our room
is large and the bed would accommodate a family of seven; I might be comfortable
if my sense of smell was not acute. I have tried to ventilate the room, but the
odor comes from outside, from the canals, you know.
Tomorrow is Sunday and we are not supposed to be
“personally conducted” on the Sabbath, yet the afternoon is to be devoted to
sight seeing and a carriage drive, kindly furnished by Cook & Son. You see our
time is so limited how can we spare Sunday to rest? I shall write of the city
tomorrow evening, until then, I love you, good night.
Sunday 12th.—Another strenuous day is at an end.
If I survive this summer I shall be capable of any exertion. Mass at ten-thirty
in a cathedral. I hesitate to state the age, as it sounds rather incredible to
our western ears. The music furnished by a choir of men was fairly good, and the
long sermon in Dutch sounded full of religion. When we entered the church the
ushers conducted us to seats, Ed with the men, I sat across the aisle with the
women. It is evidently not customary for the sexes to sit together. I was in a
dilemma when the three collectors passed as I did not have a piece of silver in
my purse. I looked wise and nodded toward Ed. His tale is this: he saw his
neighbor take out a handful of small coins, make them into three neat piles of
different sizes, so he immediately did likewise. When the first collector passed
he placed in the basket the pile corresponding to the one his neighbor
deposited, thus doing until the money was all given. After mass we walked home,
walking through queer little streets and over many bridges. We found the most
luscious cherries for sale and purchased a basket; we commenced eating cherries
in Canada, I wonder if we can get them all the way to Rome?
The afternoon has been ideal, the weather so agreeable, and
we were in comfortable rubber-tired carriages behind a pair of dandy horses. Our
team were blacks and real high steppers, the driver said they required much
attention, as they longed to run. At the palace a guide regaled us with tales of
its past and present glory. It was built as a city hall in 1600 and made a royal
palace by Napoleon in 1800. The entrance hall is of purest marble, just a cool
dream; the city fathers were surely lovers of chaste, cold beauty.
The other rooms are gorgeous, especially the throne room,
with its warm crimson and gold, but I prefer the splendor of the marble hall.
At the Ryks Museum we were shown all sorts of treasures;
the chair of Kruger recalled the old patriot so forcibly I would not have been
surprised to have seen him in it. The native costumes were interesting, but the
time given did not admit of more than a glance. When we hurried through the art
room seeking Rembrandt’s “Night Watch,” I thought of the cartoon of the Cook
tourist—a man in an art gallery, stop watch in hand, wiping his moisture-laden
brow, and exclaiming: “Gee! we did that last mile in a minute.”
You know the time is so limited that it is useless to try
to see many pictures, better follow the advice of the guide and see a few of the
most noted. It was worth all the struggle upstairs and down at last to stand
before the magnificent “Night Watch.” The figures were so real and coloring so
satisfactory. The copy shown in St. Louis at the World’s Fair was indeed good, I
think. We were given a drive to rest our eyes and enable us to form an idea of
the city. We drove slowly through the Jewish quarters, where humanity seemed
numberless, and there was little evidence of Sunday rest. I am glad to leave
tomorrow, I feel malaria in my bones. If I owned this hotel I would remove all
these heavy hangings and use muslin curtains. Good night, Mother dear. Just
think! tomorrow we are going to be in Germany. How often I wish for your
presence.
Lovingly,
C.
- Sapolio was a household cleaner and
polisher.
- The island of Marken lies 11 miles
north-east of Amsterdam. Tourism still is the main source of income for
residents.
Cologne
My Very Dear Mother:
There is a distinct advantage in traveling with Cook; you
can sleep in the morning until called, secure in the knowledge that the
conductor has all things arranged, and you will be given sufficient time to
breakfast and reach the train. My only grievance is, we are given too many
minutes at the station, yet I realize it is unavoidable in a party of this size:
the man in charge must have time to count us and search for the missing. The
change in scenery was gradual. All the country, one great garden, is delightful
to eyes accustomed to western wide tracts of uncultivated land.
Ed gave a dinner today. Issued invitations to four ladies,
and managed it so they were in our compartment. A suit case was the table and
dainty paper napkins were used. He was gracious host and nimble waiter. First
course, peanuts, followed by honey cake and peppermint candy, from Montreal. He
arose, made a little speech concerning the work he had obtaining for us the next
course, one of the delicacies of Holland. He passed crackers, then a very queer
shaped package appeared; with a quick movement he opened it, and out tumbled a
half a dozen monster baked eels. Such shrieks. The table was over-turned in the
wild effort to escape the things; Ed urged “keep cool, I beg you, ladies, the
poor creatures are cooked.” After the tumult subsided, from some hidden place he
brought forth a bottle of champagne, and in the sipping of it, from a
collapsible cup which collapsed oftener than it remained upright, we managed to
forgive him. Mother, he is irrepressible, nothing tires or annoys him, he is
always full of sunshine.
We reached this city at two o’clock and as our hotel is
very near to the great cathedral, carriages were not provided. In the expression
of England, “I’m sorry.” When grandfather used to describe this cathedral I
thought he was just romancing. He did not do it half justice. It is superb, like
a sweet strain of music with a minor chord. If the devil did design the
wonderful towers he must have remembered a bit of his former home in heaven, for
not from his present abode could such beauty spring. Ed wishes me to send a few
figures. You know he always wishes to know “all about it.” The capacity is said
to be 30,000; it is the third largest church in the world; the central tower is
over five hundred feet and the length of building is five hundred and thirty-two
feet. Perhaps the statement that one hundred and twelve columns in the interior
do not impress you as many, will better serve to make you comprehend its
vastness.
There are many sacred relics, which thanks to Mr. B. we
were shown—a bit of the true cross, upper part of the staff of St. Peter, etc.
The real treasure of the church is the tomb of the Three Wise Men. A solid gold
casket, inlaid with precious stones valued at over two million dollars, and said
to contain the mortal remains of the Three. Sacred vessels, marvelous vestments
decorated with precious stones, superb golden receptacles, holding relics of
saints, worth millions of dollars. When the guide quoted figures I felt like I
was listening to an article in frenzied finance, they were so stupendous. The
cathedral was not made in a day as we do out west, it was commenced in the
thirteenth century and finished in the nineteenth.
It was plundered by Napoleon’s soldiers and we were shown
statues, etc., denuded of precious stones by the Christian vandals. From the
cathedral or dom, as they call it here, to the church of St. Ursula and her
eleven thousand virgins, is but a short walk. It is said the saint and her
virgins were passing through Cologne from England on a pilgrimage, to end in
Rome, when the Huns under Attila took the town and put all inhabitants to death.
Years afterwards a pious man gathered the bones, built a church, and dedicated
it as a receptacle for their remains, cursing any who would dare to mingle their
dust with the dust of the martyred dead.
When Pepin was king, losing his little daughter, he wished
her to sleep with the virgins, yet fearing the curse he evaded it by building a
tomb supported by four columns in the body of the church, and there his child
awaits the judgment day. There is one dear chapel devoted entirely to skulls,
seventeen hundred exposed, we were told, and countless bones in great vases and
lovely shrines. It is strange, but the gentle virgins have given even to their
bones an air of peace and you do not feel repelled by the gruesomeness. They
show there an amphora which is claimed to be one of the jars used at the wedding
feast in Cana. It is doubtless of great antiquity. After leaving the church we
scattered, some going to the stores, others to drive. Ed and I determined to
enjoy a street car and also lookup a certain gentleman he wished to see
concerning a business venture. The town is a veritable fortress and I think
quite picturesque. We found the number in a beautiful residence street. We were
surprised, as we thought it his business address. The maid urged us to return,
when we said we were from America. “Ah,” said she, “from America, the master
will be so glad; only this morning his son left for Chicago.”
We left our cards and agreed to return at eight o’clock. It
seemed rather “a la Mr. Butinksy,” yet the business must be transacted and we
knew not how else to do it. I do wish you could have seen us struggle to explain
our wants in a drug store where only German was spoken. We wished seidlitz
powders, and after exhausting ourselves in French and English Ed thought of
pantomime. He folded two papers, seized an ash tray and an ink bottle, emptied
the imaginary powders therein and pouring together made a noise like a soda
water fountain. “Yah, Yah,” exclaimed the delighted clerk and produced the right
medicine.
After dinner we again sought the home of Mr. Z. where we
were so cordially welcomed we forgot we were strangers in a strange land. Before
we were permitted to introduce business his daughter appeared, and over a glass
of wine and little cakes we enjoyed a pleasant conversation. His knowledge of
our new state and entire constitution surprised me. His daughter is very
proficient in English, having spent many months in England. The son is in
Chicago to learn American business methods. I am glad he is young, otherwise the
ordeal would be dreadful. Mr. Z. paid me the compliment of saying that my
enunciation was so perfect and my voice so charming he found not the slightest
difficulty in comprehending my every remark, although English was not to him a
very easy language.
Ed says I am “real puffed up,” that very soon I’ll say I
have a true English voice. I think not, I’ll wait until I hear a few more and
see if I like them better. We were urged to spend several days in Cologne and
permit them to be our guides. We expressed regret that being “cookies,” we were
not long in a place. They laughed heartily at the term, and assured us that
Thomas Cook & Sons always fulfilled their promises. We parted with mutual
regret. Oh, I forgot to state the business terminated satisfactorily.
It is near the hour of twelve and the dear little bed with
its heaped up pillows looks very inviting. May I leave, if I promise a letter
tomorrow, all about our Rhine trip? We leave here by boat early, to go so far on
the river as Mayence. I am so excited I can hardly think of sleep, not only the
Rhine, but in one more day we are to be in your native village. Good night, dear
Mother of mine, I am always thinking of you.
Lovingly,
C.
Colmar and Heiligkreuz
My Dear Mother:
If you were here my happiness would be increased a thousand
fold, and, from the state I am now in, I judge I would require another body.
Owing to the mistake of the proprietor at Mayence, concerning the train
schedule, we missed the express and were compelled to take the local; thus,
carried far out of our way and stopping at all the tiny stations, we lost
several hours. I was quite weary, and when we reached Worms and were told to
change cars for Strasburg my fears became intense, having a vision of an all day
jaunt through Alsace. At Strasburg another wait. Here we obtained a lunch of
sausages, beer, bread and fruit. I would have preferred visiting the famous
cathedral, but Ed said, “no,” we must eat here, as in Colmar we would not wish
to lose the time required to obtain luncheon, so my view of the church was
obtained from the passing train.
Colmar at two o’clock. We were driven quickly to this
hotel, the newest and best in the city. We have an immense room on the second
floor, containing two handsomely carved beds, with crimson silk covers, seven
chairs, two wash stands, two tiny night tables, one large table, a couch, an
immense wardrobe with two full length mirrors, and a piano; all for the sum of
one dollar and seventy-five cents per day for two. What do you think of that? I
would like to remain here all summer.
Having a letter to Prof. H., of Colmar, from his brother,
Rev. Fr. H. of S., we drove immediately to his address.
After ponderous knocking and prolonged ringing of the bell
we were ready to conclude another hitch in our arrangements had occurred. From a
window in a house opposite a woman leaned out and inquired as to the cause of
the disturbance. Our driver replied: “two Americans to see Prof. H.” She
suggested we try the school, so away over the well worn cobble stones; were
greeted warmly by many boys, but informed that Prof. H. was absent. Just as we
had decided to drive alone to Heiligkreuz, a breathless boy appeared, waving his
hat wildly. When he could speak he said: “Come back with me, Mrs. H. is home!”
We were cordially welcomed by a handsome lady gowned in black, who assured us of
regret that Prof. H. was unavoidable absent, attending a board meeting. She had
been out shopping. We chatted pleasantly, sipping wine of ’65. Ed made a jolly
interpreter, but I have fully decided to master the French language. I cannot
talk through another. When we informed Madam H. of the very few hours at our
disposal, she kindly offered to accompany us to Heiligkreuz and do her utmost to
find a few relatives for me.
Down the six-mile avenue of trees which connects Colmar and
Heiligkreuz, the mountains showing blue in the distance just as I have so often
heard it described. It required little imagination to picture the quaint girl of
long ago, stepping quietly along the beautiful lane; now inhaling the fragrance
of a flower, pausing to listen to the song of a bird and ever turning wistful
eyes toward the far off mountains. Dear Grandmother! How deeply within my heart
she planted the love of her country, her home.
Up the old world street to the village inn. The
low-ceilinged room, its massive cupboard, plain tables and smiling landlady was
as my fancy painted. Here we learned the village postmistress belonged to the
family of M., and a child was dispatched for her. In a great arm chair beside a
many-paned window sat an old woman in the quietude of age. Being told she was
the god-mother of our Rev. Fr. H., Ed delighted her with news of him. The door
opened quickly and in came a plump little body, excitedly demanding her cousin
from America. Madam H. introduced me, and I received a warm welcome, yet her
dismay at my inability to speak either French or German was amusing. Ed came
gallantly to the rescue, and then she was inclined to think Madam H. was
misinformed and he was truly the cousin. I was delighted with the artless way in
which she inquired if it was true that her American cousins were Indians. Did
not all Indians, “wear a scarcity of clothes and many feathers, and much paint?”
If so, how could “my cousin” be an Indian? Ed gave her my genealogical tree, and
ere its completion she exclaimed, “Is it thus Indians are now made in American?
What queer customs!” If she knew that it is only a few short months since a
“paternal” government performed for me a vital operation, “removal of
restrictions,” thus declaring me capable of managing my own affairs she would
doubtless expire of sheer astonishment.
I could not walk too swiftly along the cobble stones oft
pressed by your childish feet, to the “house on the corner of the court house
square, facing the village well,” where so many generations have lived. The old
house is vacant now, yet it stands immovable in majestic age, seeming to brood
over the days gone by, when it sent forth lusty children to battle with the
world. Surrounded by a stone wall, with massive gates, it looks as if built to
withstand the ravages of time. The rooms are hung with cobwebs, and so forlorn,
yet withal holding a dignity born of centuries. The stairs are worn by the
pressure of many feet, the woodwork is falling into decay, and the room wherein
you and many before you first drew breath is oh, so lonely. It seems to listen
for the voices of the babes of long ago. This quaint house was the home of the
matron whose kindness to a wounded enemy saved the village from fire and sword
in the wars of long ago. Here, too, lived the soldier of Napoleon, your
grandfather, ever recounting the deeds of his hero, and filling the hearts of
his children and their descendants, even to the third generation, with loyalty
to the “man of destiny.”
It is good to feel that for centuries you have had a part
in the affairs of this old world of ours. Upstairs and down we wandered, peeping
here and there, lingering in the court yard where you played, finding everywhere
fresh delight. In the attic, such rummaging. Here we found many things once
belonging to grandmother’s family, for you know this is her home, her village.
Grandfather came from another, in the mountains. There stood the cupboard
fashioned by him for his bride, “la belle Marie,” the spinning wheel to whose
music many a housewife had listened. The cousin, seeing me regard the latter
with longing eyes, offered it. Alas, when Ed removed it from its resting place,
it fell into many pieces. It was only the wraith of a wheel. I am bringing home
a tiny bit of it for you, dear. We sat in the huge arm chair built for the old
soldier, my grandfather, when he came courting Marie. I asked for your cradle.
The cousin said it was elsewhere in the village; tomorrow she would find it for
me. Ed told her for us there is no “tomorrow” here.
Perhaps it is well I did not see it, for how could I have
left it behind.
Around the corner, barely two blocks away, is the village
church, with its bit of the true cross, from whence the name. I knelt before the
altar of the Madonna, with its marvelous statue of the poor, sorrowing mother,
with her tear-dimmed eyes, looking down, not upon the body of her beloved Son,
but into the very heart of the supplicant. Here dear, saintly grandmother voiced
her petitions long ago, and you, a tiny toddler, oft came with posies to lay at
our Lady’s feet. Colmar cathedral has the baptismal font where in ages past
pagans were made the children of God, and you and many before you were baptized.
The cousin proudly pointed to the handsome new basin, but I turned sadly away.
From the church to the school where you studied, and
played, too, I venture to say. Then down the village street to the house once
the home of Rev. Fr. H. The man into whose hands it has passed was absent, and
we turned toward the “old, old village of the dead.” I asked if the massive
gates of the court yards were always fastened. The cousin replied at nightfall
they were locked. I then queried as to the necessity. She answered: “It has
always been done. Why change?” Little wonder that here it is as when you left it
years ago. We were followed by a train of children. Ed said they were fascinated
by my attire, especially my tan shoes and hose. The cousin wished to “shoo” them
off, but we objected. Ed found their comments very amusing. The cousin often
halted the procession while she explained to a peeping lady that we were her
cousins from America. Often an old woman would hobble out and greet us with a
quaint bow and a smile. Here the graves of the dead are well kept, many
profusely decorated with flowers made of colored beads. Fluttering white
streamers and pure white wreaths mark the graves of virgins. The tomb of the
parish priest, who died a few years ago, is the pride of the village. Returning
toward the inn I asked if the cousin could show me the wardrobe so elaborately
carved by my grandfather for his young bride, and sold when they left for
America to a former suitor of “la belle Marie?” How rapturously I was embraced,
truly was I a child of the family to know that tale. We were cordially greeted
by the grandson of the purchaser, and, after a few moments conversation, were
led to the best upstairs chamber, and there I saw it. I ran my hands over the
two fishes bearing the ring, admired the bunches of grapes and the delicately
carved flowers, opened the doors, pulled wide the drawers, sought the hidden
places, guided ever by fond remembrance of the description given by grandfather.
Dear, some day I must return, buy the old home and the scattered furniture,
restore it as it was in the days of yore.
In the postoffice we found cards giving good views of your
home, the church and school, so we have this day mailed to you and our cousins
in Oklahoma quite a number. As we were preparing to leave, an old gentleman
entered seeking the Americans. Having heard or our presence, he came to ask us
to his home, as his wife was dear grandmother’s first cousin. Ed thanked him,
and expressed our regret that we were even then leaving. We were requested then
to please go with him if only for a moment, and meet his aged wife. At a massive
gate stood a sweet faced lady, looking with eager, faded eyes at our approach.
Oh, I ran and clasped her in my arms with a flood of tears, for truly it was the
face and figure of grandmother. When Ed explained to her my agitation, she
smiled so sweetly, and comforted me with the gentle caress I knew so well in
other days. We lingered until the lengthening shadows and the voices of the men
returning from the fields warned us the day was at an end. We left them there in
the old world street, with the soft rays of the setting sun falling like a
benediction upon their uplifted, eager faces, passing from their lives as we
came, quickly and silently.
Madam H. is so charming; I would like to know her far more
intimately. The professor had not returned. She assured us that immediately
following his arrival they would seek us. She most hospitably urged us to remain
with her to dinner, yet, as we had kept her so very late, and to prepare for
strangers requires time we deemed it best to courteously refuse, and thus enable
her to spend the evening with us free from her care.
We enjoyed an excellent dinner. It was served and cooked to
perfection. The hotel surely boasts a fine chef. I have developed an appetite
and expect to grow fat and jolly.
Prof. H. is so much like his brother, the priest, that I
often said, “Father,” and jumped affrightedly at his startling “Bah,” much to
his amusement. We were piloted through ancient streets and told many quaint
tales. One old, old house near to the cathedral caught my fancy, and in the
morning I shall go there, and, in the little shop beneath, purchase a spoon,
with a picture of it engraved in the bowl. A brilliantly illuminated garden,
with merry-go-round, etc., is evidently the city play ground. We entered, and at
a little table drank beer and watched the fun-makers. By the way, I enjoyed that
glass of Munich. First beer I ever tasted that I considered palatable. Ed says
I am cultivating a taste for strong drinks. We lingered in pleasant converse
until the hour was late, so loth were we to part, and here I am, burning the
after-midnight oil, pouring it out to you, my dearest and best. Shall I say
goodnight?
July 16, eleven a.m.—Dear, just a few lines. We leave in
thirty minutes once more to be “cookies.” I have lived years in the past
twenty-four hours. I went out alone this morning, to purchase the spoon, saw a
funeral procession, a sale of oxen, a wedding procession, and managed to lose my
way. Prof. H. and his wife came this morning to bid us farewell. I wasn’t there,
so missed the Professor. Madame came to seek me and how pleased I was to see her
face among all the strange ones. I tried to tell her of my dilemma, and
succeeded excellently, as she gave to Ed a graphic description of my woes.
Before taking final leave she presented us with a dear picture of the cathedral,
as “a souvenir of your visit to Colmar.” We parted with mutual regret, I
promising to learn French, she to master English. Thus, when next we meet, Ed’s
occupation will be gone.
Mother, darling, let us close the book, and bid Colmar and
dear, beloved Heiligkreuz goodbye.
Lovingly,
C.
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