who it is that counts the number of shells falling in that town daily!
It must be a splendid job, and the person who has it is delightfully
accurate. Every day we see by the paper just how many thousand have
fallen, except once, when they "fell so fast" it was impossible to keep
count. How awful it is to make fun of it, and yet one has to make fun of
something about this terrible, terrible war.
Betty Potter has given me my wonderful package. When I saw the wrapper
and Daddy's writing, and all the flags and ribbon, I just almost went to
pieces, but Miss Whittier being with me, I couldn't. I tore home, and
didn't go in to luncheon, but sat and read and read and read. Oh, you
dear, dear people, how did you ever think of doing such a wonderful
thing? It pleased and thrilled me so that I am still walking on air. And
the money. Oh, we do need it so, particularly just now! I shall write
every one slowly, as I get time, but will you just tell everybody what a
wonderful time it gave me, and how I can't possibly express myself? All
I can say is, thank you, thank you all, over and over again. It was
pretty mighty good of you.
I had already spent eighteen francs of Daddy's money on a hot-water
bottle for a poor dear old lady refugee, who is dying of cancer. It is
only a question of time. Her two daughters care for her now. We have
installed them, and are trying to make the end easier for them all. I
found on one of my visits that they used a heated plate to give her
relief when she had attacks in the night. The hot-water bottle is a
great help, and they are pathetically grateful. I shall write you as to
just what we do with all the money. Oh, you don't know how much it
means! The little pins have gone like lightning. It is so sweet to see
the joy that they give the children. Incidentally the various "workers"
have grabbed them also. Rootie is downtown this minute buying bright
ribbons for the children. It will be too marvelous to have new ribbons
to give them.
Mrs. Shurtleff is driving with Miss Curtis to the front, or rather the
evacuated district, next week. She has an opportunity and is seizing it,
you can be sure. If we get enough clothes from America these next few
months and can afford it, we are going to establish a regular station,
and deliver clothes per Ford every fifteen days, and I shall do the
driving!!! To say that the idea thrills me barely describes it. Of
course, she is taking Miss Curtis this time because she is older and is
the head worker, but next time she will take me. I can't tell you how I
long to hear the guns and actually see some of the things that I have
been hearing about for so long. It will be splendid.
The new jitney, having finally arrived, proves much more satisfactory
than the old ambulance body. I will send you some pictures of it soon.
We live on our balcony now, for the spring has really come. We purchased
a chaise-longue and cushions at nine dollars, and take turns lying out
on it. The balcony is so small we can only have one. We are just at the
height of the tree-tops, and now the leaves are out and the little
garden in front of us in the Square has many Japanese apple trees. The
air is lovely; with the moon at night, it is marvelous. We hate to go to
bed at all.
I have got to stop now. Lots and lots of love to every one, and thank
you again for the package of letters.
MARJE.
XVI
FROM MARJORIE
Sunday, May 13, 1917.
DEAREST FAMILY:--
Here I am out at Saint-Germain again, this time quite differently,
though. Betty Colt and I planned several weeks ago to have a day in the
country together; we have both been so busy that we haven't got round to
it until to-day. We planned to take the 8.04 train out, but, owing to a
thunder-shower at five this morning,--which caused me to rise and go out
on the balcony to rescue our precious chaise-longue, getting soaked in
the process,--and its looking so dismal and so like permanent rain, I
went back to bed and slept until 8.15! So we did not take the 8.04, but
the 10.04. It rained a little on the way out, but now, after a delicious
and filling dinner, we are sitting in the garden, writing at one of
those little green iron tables. For a nation that has such good taste in
most things, I think it remarkable the lack of taste the French have in
garden furniture! Betty having never been out here before, the first
thing we did was to go out to the Terrace. On the way, we passed a Ford
standing by the roadside, which had a familiar air. The number also
seemed like ours,--so I pulled out my license card (which I keep with me
always,--I am so afraid of ever missing an opportunity to drive through
not having papers), and found that it was our "other car,"--in other
words, the car Miss Curtis hires from Mrs. Gage and runs for the
Association and for herself over Sundays. You see, your license over
here is a complicated affair, and has, among other things, the numbers
of the car or cars you drive. I am saving, by the bye, all the extra
papers that I have had to possess since I left home. It will be fun
going over them together when I get back. Being clever children, we
decided that Miss Curtis must be near by,--if her car was here,--so we
rambled around and found her, and also Mr. and Mrs. Bowditch and Mrs.
Sturgis and Miss Sturgis, all lunching at the François I^{er}. We went in
and said "How do you do?" to them, warned them how expensive the place
is, and, after leaving a few chocolates, we went on to the Bois. We get
a marvelous variety of chocolates out here--pure chocolate all the way
through, called disque d'or, on account of a little daub or touch of
real gold on each one. Somewhat the same idea as that eau de vie with
beaten gold in it that we used to have sometimes.
I intend to stand Betty up this afternoon and get some good pictures of
her to send you. She is such a dear. I hate to think of her leaving
Paris in three weeks, but Dr. Gibbons goes to Houlgate for the summer,
and, strange as it may seem, he takes his secretary "mit" him! One
comfort is that she is going to Houlgate, which is on the ocean, and she
has already asked me to spend a week-end with her. This means that I
will get a swim--hurrah! My prospects of having a vacation this summer
seem to diminish as the time goes on. Mrs. Shurtleff and Mrs. Newsom are
going to take two months off, but with Mrs. Sturgis gone (she sails this
Saturday with her mother and father), I guess that the workers who
remain will simply take week-ends off, or perhaps a week. We are now
planning a wonderful week-end party, starting for Houlgate early some
Saturday morning--Rootie, Elizabeth Baldwin, Mr. Griffiths, Bryant,
Simmons, Mayo, and myself--in an auto, arriving in the afternoon, and
getting a swim, some tennis, some food, a peek at Deauville probably,
playing with Betty, and all coming back either Sunday afternoon or
Monday morning. Doesn't that sound pretty nice? I haven't the slightest
idea that we will ever really do this--but we plan it at our Friday
night parties every week now. If we do go, Heaven knows what I expect to
wear.
[Illustration: "Bettina" at Saint-Germain]
[Illustration: Le Cèdre at Saint-Germain]
I am wondering just what I planned in my mind to wear this spring, when
I left home. My faithful purple suit continues. It is, if possible, more
faded than ever. Rootie has offered me every conceivable kind of a bribe
to have it cleansed, and I think I may! I have bought a hat, round and
black with feathers curling round the edge, which, with my black silk
dress (which has turned from my only evening dress into my street
dress), is my costume for teas! I have one new waist; otherwise I have
nothing. To-morrow being my day off, I plan to shop. I must get some
thinner stockings, these woolen ones are killing me by inches. You just
try cranking a Ford car for hours at a time in woolen stockings! I have
got to get up my courage and buy some white skirts, although I hate
to--waists are bad enough. It is a bit disconcerting to be told that I
wear a 46! Why, why, don't we all use the same system of measuring
clothes, coal, essence, and lots of things? It would save so much
trouble.
Rootie and I have at last realized our ambition, and have persuaded the
lady who was in the big room next door to us to change with
Rootie--thereby giving us a salon. We use my room for a sleeping-room,
and the big one for a regular salon. With Rootie's piano and my sofa and
chairs, it is very nice-looking, and will be such a joy. We have not
been able to ask the crowd to come back to our house after Friday night
supper, for instance. Now we are going to play "pounce" and bridge and
all sorts of things in our salon. The extra room divided between us
costs me only one franc more,--namely, eleven francs instead of ten
francs,--and I think that it is well worth while. Also Mrs. Shurtleff
strongly recommended our doing it. Last night I was sitting at the table
writing,--Rootie on the other side sewing,--and suddenly, for no reason
whatsoever, my chair simply collapsed under me! I never had such a funny
sensation. As Rootie said, one minute I was there and the next I
wasn't--I was under the table! I left so early this morning that I did
not see Mme. H----, so Rootie has the fun of telling her about it!
However, she will not mind, I am sure. She is very, very good to us. She
keeps her table up very well, and that, with the good service and clean
rooms, is pretty fine, I can tell you. For instance, we had creamed
potatoes and cauliflower in a baking dish for the first course yesterday
noon, followed by cold asparagus with French dressing (second course),
cold meat and noodles, and ended with the usual cream cheese and
confiture.
Every time I have asparagus I can't help thinking of the wonderful green
"asperge" you people are having. It is nearly all white over here, and
although very nice, not nearly as good as ours from Marion--naturally.
Rumors of Russia making a separate peace are frequent here just now. Dr.
Gibbons and many others feel that she is not to be reckoned with one way
or the other any more. They blame the failure of the spring offensive
partially on Russia's lack of support. The submarines are evidently not
getting everything. We have received nine cases lately--the first in a
long time. Mr. Barbour at the American Clearing House says that eleven
hundred or more arrived in Paris this week. We are glad, for we need
everything we can get just now. The typewriter paper, I am very much
afraid, has not come through; still there is always hope. (Neither lot
has arrived.)
Rheims seems to be suffering particularly just now. Every day a list of
the houses ruined by shells or fire is posted downtown, and the poor
refugees go and stand and read whether "theirs" is gone yet. It seems to
be only a question of time before it will be a completely destroyed
city. All the soldiers and officers say that Verdun was bloody, but this
last month's defensive is twice as severe. Both sides are evidently
losing frightfully. In a great many ways I am glad that I am in Paris,
and not London. I believe that we will be able to outlast the English in
many ways--food and soldiers. Coal seems to be the greatest lack just
now, and yet as a whole there seems to be enough. The new meat
regulation amounts to very little. Few poor people ever ate meat at
night, and those who want to simply buy enough in the morning.
I was at the Ritz the other day seeing Roxy Bowen that was,--now Mrs. W.
Stephen Van Rensselaer,--and on her way to Rome with the Honorable
Stephen. They came via the Spanish line, and I gathered that the voyage
left much to be desired. Among the tales she told (most of which needed
a little salt, I imagine), was one of an egg dropped in the corridor and
not cleaned up during the whole trip! She was the only American aboard.
Personally I think I should prefer the submarines and the French line. I
started to say that everything seemed very normal at the Ritz, only we
could not have cake with our tea, it being Tuesday. Of course, it was
just my usual luck to be asked to tea at the Ritz on a cakeless day! I
have been told several times that more chocolates have been sold this
last year than any time during the last ten years--think of it! Of
course, a tremendous amount is sent to the front. It is a favorite thing
to send, but even with that taken into consideration, it seems odd,
doesn't it?
Speaking of sending to the front, I have taken on a Serbian soldier as a
partial filleul, on the condition that I don't have to write him. I send
him monthly packages, but anonymously,--as Rootie said, "Regular
Daddy-Long-Legs stuff"! I have seen so many foolish--and sometimes worse
than that--letters from these filleuls to their marraines that I have
been scared off. But I couldn't bear to have him starve to death. His
name not only is not Hippolyte, but is utterly unpronounceable--sneeze
twice, cough, and end with "sky," and you are as near it as I ever have
been!
Paris, Thursday.
What very deceptive things maps are, anyway. Do you remember the day we
looked up Denfert-Rochereau on the map? We all hunted for it, and
finally located it, surrounded with stations, morgue, catacombs, orphan
asylums, and goodness knows what else. I wonder if you have the same
picture that I had of it before I arrived? As a matter of fact, I only
discovered the station a few weeks ago--so you can see how well it is
hidden. The other cheering institutions do not exist, as far as I can
see, and I don't care to look them up. What does exist is a large
square, with a big statue of the Lion of Belfort in the middle. He is
our landmark, as it were, when we are coming home. From any direction,
there he stands, or rather lies, and that means "home" in a certain
sense to us. There is a perfectly lovely garden in front of our house,
and another beside us--between our block and Mrs. Shurtleff's. Both
gardens have Japanese apple trees or cherry trees, and at night, when we
lie on our balcony, the scent is perfectly lovely. As we are only two
flights up, we are just at the height of the tree-tops, so it is
deliciously cool, and, except for the children in the park, one can
hardly believe one is in the city. Having these two parks and a square
beyond, you can imagine what very good air we get, and that makes such a
difference here. Besides the æsthetic qualities, this house is located
at the end of a taxi-stand, which we can see by standing on a chair on
the balcony. As taxis are few and far between here these days, it is
pretty cute for us to have our own stand!
You may notice that I am following your excellent advice and am
numbering this letter No. one. Meant to begin last week, but forgot, so
here goes. Heaven help me if I miss out and forget what was the last
number I used! I am trying to get time to re-write the Bordeaux trip. My
bad words are all worn out from thinking of that beautiful letter going
to the fishes. I am so very glad that you called my attention to the
lack of periods and capitals in my letters. I intend to go over this
cahier very carefully! It pretty near scares me to death when I think of
your showing my notes to any one, for they are usually written
hurriedly, and I simply say what I think and feel without any regard to
phrases or literary value; not that I could do anything in that line if
I wanted to. Still, it does please me to feel that I have been able to
tell you enough, and in such a way that it has interested you. After
all, it is simply because everything is so vital here, and when one has
something to say, it is usually easy to say it.
Almost every day now, big, new, beautiful, creamy-colored dirigibles
sail over the city. They are so marvelous-looking, with the sun on them.
I do not quite know what they are for, but they are lovely to look at.
Having been scared into believing that the pastry-shops are really
closing, Rootie and I bought lots of crackers, only to find them all
flourishing to-day, and with no immediate prospects of closing! That is
the way things go here. Lots of talk about shortage of this and that,
and yet we all have everything.
The last few days a very large number of soldiers--a remarkable number
in fact--have come home for "permission"--I cannot imagine why. An
oldest son--one of three at the front--came home this morning while we
were making a call. I hated to stay on and ask questions, when I knew
how much the woman wanted to talk with her boy. When he came in, both
the mother and father stopped talking, and simply stared at him. Then
she said, "Well, I am glad to see you alive," and kissed him on each
cheek. The man said nothing, but pounded him on the back. Then the woman
turned to us and explained that he was the eldest, and asked him if he
had news of his brother, wounded in a hospital near Arras. The
simplicity of their greeting, the wonderful control of the woman, who is
having a very hard time,--her husband is dying of T.B.; she has three
sons at the front; her daughter of thirty is insane, the result of the
bombardment; and she herself is not strong. I think that it is
interesting to see how people usually say commonplace things when they
are greatly stirred.
Rootie has finished writing, and is now waiting for me to come in and
play "halma." Did you ever? We have bought a board, and I expect to be
licked all to pieces, but here goes.
Your very loving daughter,
MARJE.
Friday, A.M.
Am writing this while waiting in the car for Mrs. Shurtleff, who is in
the American Clearing House, looking up lost cases--your paper among
others. I feel pretty important lined up with all the military cars, and
I backed into the place perfectly, which is great, for soldiers look
down on girl drivers. Am hoping one of them will crank for me! Letters
from you and Dad arrived for breakfast, all about seeing the Roots.
Thanks so much for them.
M.
XVII
FROM ESTHER
Paris, Monday, May 28, 1917.
DEAREST MOTHER:--
I am so bursting full of the good time that we have had during the past
two days that I am going to dash a line off to you--an inconsequential
line--even when I know that what you want is a letter full of statistics
and answers to questions. (Funny thing, I always think that I am the one
who is wonderful about answering everything that you ask!) I will be
good to-morrow.
To-night, I am tired and dusty, but miles and miles of white French
roads bordered by forests, and meadows, and houses, and towns, and
children, and horses, and castles, and flags, are going round in my
head.
"There ne'er were such thousands of leaves on a tree,
Or of people in church or the park...."
To-day is a holiday, being the day after Pentecost (Whit-Monday in
England), and Marje and I decided to go off for two days somewhere in
the country. Miss Curtis had planned to move a family to-day in the
Association car,--forgetting that Mrs. Shurtleff had promised us that we
could go out in it,--so she handed us over her Ford touring-car, which
was perfectly wonderful for us.
Yesterday morning we started off in dazzling sunshine with a clear blue
sky overhead. We took the road to Fontainebleau, which is long and
straight and bordered all the way--fifty kilometres--with great
evergreen trees. We took our hats off and talked, and laughed, and sang,
and whistled, and watched the countryside go flying by; the trees and
fields were the most luscious green, and everywhere were huge patches of
mustard, growing dense and brilliant yellow. Little towns, red-roofed,
with a single church spire and a few pointed haystacks, would huddle to
themselves far off on the horizon, and always we kept tearing along
between the trees, leaving Paris and carking care behind.
We stopped for luncheon under a particularly splendid tree and laid out
our store on the thick grass. Sardines, fresh bread, cheese, preserved
plums, strawberries, olives stuffed with anchovies, Cailler's chocolate
and orangeade. I never had anything taste so good, and no salt air any
nearer than Havre to account for it. You can't imagine what fun we had.
Finally when we were replete, we lay down and looked up into the leaves
and listened to the most heavenly birds.
We reached Fontainebleau at about two. The "New York Herald" had said
something about its being American day at F. that Sunday, but we weren't
prepared for such an exhibition of American flags as greeted us on all
the houses and shops, and on the palais itself. We knew, however, that
all this demonstration meant that the hotels were full, so we looked to
getting a room for the night before seeing anything. Not a thing to be
had. Thank fortune we were in a car and could go on to the next town.
There was a special invitation for all Americans to visit the
Fontainebleau golf course, so we made tracks out in that direction, as
the palais and grounds were overrun with permissionnaires and the usual
holiday crowds.
Arrived at the gates of the golf club we were ashamed at first to go in.
We were tired and dusty and blown to pieces, and the paths and hedges
looked too neat and dressy for words. But we did hop out and walk up to
a gentle-looking gray-bearded Frenchman with a black straw hat, and
asked if we could go in. He said he was enchanté to have Americans come
to the club, and took us himself up to the first tee. I looked wistfully
at the little piles of sand and thought of the many hours spent under an
electric light between four walls of fish-net on Seventy-second Street,
and longed for my driver.
We wandered up to some fir trees in the rough about halfway to the first
green and flopped down on the ground. We were both pretty tired and
didn't know where we could spend the night, or what, in fact, the next
move would be. Marje said that she couldn't go another step until she
had a nap, and as we didn't know when we should see a bed, we crawled
under the low branches of the fir tree, spread our coats over us, and
went to sleep.
It was twenty minutes of four when we woke up. We jumped out of the
bushes and so startled a man who was driving off that he sliced his shot
and the ball went whizzing between our heads. It was surprising to see
men caddies in battered French uniforms--probably réformés for
tuberculosis--and also young husky girl caddies toting around armfuls of
clubs. These were the only reminders of war, for on the veranda were
Americans and French people in white tennis shoes and blazers playing
bridge. You can't imagine the thrill of seeing good-looking people
wearing clothes and jewelry, sitting around and calling out "No
trumps"--after what this winter has been in Paris.
My, but we felt good after our nap! We met our friend with the black hat
and he took us inside the clubhouse. He showed us most especially the
mural decorations--scenes in Fontainebleau--which were from his brush.
One of the silver loving-cups in the glass case had "Compliments of
Charles Crocker" on it, and Marje discovered that he is a relation of
hers in Fitchburg.
We became very chummy with graybeard, and I mentioned in passing that we
couldn't find a place to stay. He gave us his card--M. Paul
Tavernier--and said that he knew an old couple who had a lovely house
which they rented furnished for the summer, beginning July 1st. Just now
they rented rooms overnight and would serve the petit déjeuner. It was
nice of him to recommend us, not knowing us at all, but he must have
known we were nice, we looked so innocent and unattractive. It seems
funny that over here when I'm traveling I spend my time trying to look
utterly unattractive and I meet with dazzling success; but such a
difference as it makes when choosing hats!
I have had a gnawing eagerness to see Moret. I believe it's where the
Barnards used to live; and Professor Churchill, head of the art
department in Northampton, knew George Gray Barnard there, and used to
mention the town and its environs in his lectures. The road leads
through the forest, and I can imagine nothing lovelier than the acres of
velvet green grass and giant green trees. You feel so tiny in between.
We hurried back to Fontainebleau and found 25 rue de l'Arbre Sec to be a
plain-looking house on a narrow, cobbled side street. Our ring was
answered by a nice-looking little woman, who became cordial when we
mentioned M. Tavernier's name. She led us through the house, which was
dark and finely furnished, and upstairs to a bedroom done in pink, with
white furniture. The windows looked out on a court and a heavenly
garden--undreamed of from the street.