washerwoman, etc.," suiting the action to words; then "_Les couturières
font comme ça_--the dressmakers do this way." Every trade or
occupation was gone through with in like manner with the greatest
earnestness.
Here is another of the same character:
[Illustration: Music]
1. Savez-vous planter les choux
à, la mode, à la mode,
Savez-vous planter les choux
à, la mode, de chez nous.
2. On les plantent avec les doigts
à, la mode, à la mode,
On les plantent avec les doigts
à, la mode, de chez nous.
3. On les plantent avec le pied
à, la mode, à la mode,
On les plantent avec le pied
à, la mode, de chez nous.
But the prettiest of these singing games was "_La Marguerite_." To play
this a circle was formed around _La Marguerite_, who was supposed to be
a beautiful princess waiting to be rescued from her imprisonment. Two
knights seeking her walked round the ring singing:
[Illustration: Music]
1. Où est la Marguerite?
Oh qué,
Oh qué,
Oh qué,
Où est la Marguerite,
Oh qué son chevalier.
2. Elle est dans son château,
Oh qué,
Oh qué,
Oh qué,
Elle est dans son château,
Oh qué son chevalier.
And then, one by one, stones were loosened from the tower; that is,
the ring was made smaller and smaller until _La Marguerite_ was set at
liberty.
The skipping-rope and the hoop are, or were then, much more used
there then here; and to skip the rope gracefully, or guide a hoop
dexterously, was an accomplishment.
Whoever was agile enough to pass the rope under the feet twice while
giving one skip was looked upon with admiration. New developments
constantly took place with the skipping-rope or "_corde à sauter_,"
and all sorts of evolutions were gone through with, many of which were
pretty and graceful.
Lively games were usually played in some wide open space near the Porte
Maillot, one of the entrances to the Bois, as there was always sure to
be a great number of both grown people and children thereabout. But
there were retired nooks where our little band sometimes gathered and
made merry. One favorite retreat was a pine grove; "_Les Sapins_" we
called it.
Here the little girls liked best to play dolls, or make a _dinette_
with their _goûter_ of a tablet of chocolate and some bread which forms
the regulation lunch of most French children. Sometimes we amused
ourselves in gathering the resinous matter which oozed from the pines,
sticking to the bark, and from it we made little plasters and doll
medicines.
"_La Mousse_" was the name of another haunt; this was a mossy bank
which on one side sloped gently down to one of the main avenues and on
the other descended abruptly into a ravine called _La Fosse_. It was
a great place for the boys and such a turning of somersets and racings
down the steep sides of the Fosse as there were!
A favorite occupation was the making of gardens; and then there was
a hunt for the prettiest mosses, the tiniest, brightest pebbles and
the most tree-like twigs. Then a place was marked out on the side of
the smooth sandy path and usually near a bench where would be sitting
our _bonnes_ or whoever was taking care of us. Paths were traced and
bordered with the pebbles; smooth lawns made of the velvety moss, and
small branches stuck in for trees; while miniature flower-beds were
made and filled with the smallest flowers to be found.
These gardens were often very pretty and much ingenuity could be
displayed in laying them out. We sometimes made them in some secluded
spot hoping to find them again the next day; but we never did, for
Paris is the neatest city in the world and the Bois de Boulogne
receives its share of cleaning and garnishing every day in the year.
There is nothing "snubby" or ungracious about French children, and I
remember how many a time we helped poor peasant children pick up stray
bits of wood to make their fagots, or invited them to share our fun.
One day we saw a crowd of these children carrying baskets filled with
acacia-blossoms which they said were to be made into fritters!
We found that a large acacia-tree, laden with the snowy fragrant
clusters, had been cut down and the people were plucking as much of the
booty as they could carry away with them. We followed their example
and that evening we had the addition of some delicious fritters to our
dinner. The grape-like clusters had been dipped into a light batter,
fried and sprinkled with sugar; truly they made a dish fit for a king.
Happy hours were those spent in the dear old Bois de Boulogne and if
any of you girls and boys who read this ever go there, may you have as
happy ones!
VII.
AN ARAB DINNER-PARTY.
ONE hot day towards the close of April, when the air fairly danced
between the red sun and the reflected glare of the sand, our dahabeeah,
the _Lohengrin_, was drifting with the current down the Negadeh
reach of the Nile, in Upper Egypt. On each shore a rampart of bleak
desert hills reared their craggy fronts, pouring from their gorges
deep wind-silted shoots of sand which here and there swept over the
narrow river-margin of fertile field and date grove. Few were the
villages that we passed, and those that could be seen nestled under
their canopy of palms, as if seeking refuge from the fierce sun. Their
dusty streets appeared untenanted save for the ever-wheeling flights
of pigeons, and the inevitable dogs, and everything had shunned the
track of the chariot of the Egyptian sun-god, Ra. Everything but the
birds, which--glorying in the heat of the noontide--were abroad on
their bright eastern wings in endless numbers by "field and flood."
Indeed many of the mud-flats, left in mid-stream by the subsidence
of the waters, seemed alive with the noise and movement of feathered
habitants, chattering in a thousand different tones--pompous old
pelicans snapping their absurd bills in contemptuous disapproval of
some silly water-gull's proposition; tall storks and cranes spoiling
their dignity of blue-plumed head and neck by standing on one leg with
the superfluous one tucked carefully out of the way; surly vultures
fanning their wings in the hot sun, and stretching their ugly heads
in gorged laziness; ragged kites swooping amongst a motley crowd of
ravens; quarreling hawks and eagles, fastidious siksaks, terns, and
coots running backwards and forwards over the dry mud, and wondering at
the calm of ducks and geese who preferred standing stationary in the
shallows, whence they in their turn could quack scorn of the spasmodic
energy of the terns and their frantic brethren.
But there is an ennui that comes of watching the slow shifting scenes
of the banks while the dahabeeah drifts onward with the Nile's
current--an ennui that the heat of an Egyptian April day rather
heightens than lessens, wherefore I determined to go ashore for a
ramble. Our destination for the evening was the small village, El
Wasta, some few miles further to the north; so telling my friends
that I would rejoin them there, and taking with me my boon companion
in all such enterprises, a pretty-faced Syrian boy named Gomah, whose
knowledge of a dozen French words and about half that number of
English made him a serviceable interpreter with the Arabs, I rowed
to the western shore. We chose for a landing-place one of those
desert offshoots, and consequently had much tiring exercise trudging
through the soft sand till the borders of the neighboring fields were
reached. Here and there we passed a solitary palm or dwarfed cluster of
sont-trees, and occasionally our steps would lead us by some dry-mud
hollow, startling the repose of some white ibis, or the meditations of
the ubiquitous gray-headed crow.
We had wandered thus by a long circuit inland when, emerging again on
the river, we sighted a small village half-hidden amongst its tall
palms, and too insignificant on the map of the world to bear the
dignity of a name. Between us and its small cluster of huts was a
field of tall clover, by the borders of which were playing about some
young goats too intent on their gamboling to notice how closely they
were being watched by the keen eyes of an eagle perched on a mound
amongst the fodder. This bird I endeavored to stalk by performing the
somewhat tiring feat of crawling through the tall clover with my gun
under me, and, successfully getting within range, brought him toppling
down from his high pinnacle. The subsequent results, however, were very
unexpected. No sooner had I risen to my feet than all the village dogs
set on me, and commenced howling in most atrocious unison, with the
decided intention of resisting my unbidden presence in their domains.
Happily these were soon silenced by a native woman passing at the
moment, whose authority they were in nowise anxious to resent. One old
yellow cur, however, dissatisfied perhaps with the peaceful turn things
had taken, climbed one of the mud huts and from that stronghold of
safety gave vent to most persistent growls.
Several of the men and boys now issued forth from the narrow lanes
of the village, and, after the formalities of salutation had been
interchanged, commenced examining my gun. They seemed greatly pleased
with its appearance, but flatly refused to believe in its powers until
convinced by actual experiment.
While we were thus chatting the shaykh of the village had joined us
unperceived and now coming forward, with many salutations asked me
to visit his house. This I readily assented to as well from a desire
to talk with this gray-bearded old lion in his den, as from the
necessities of Eastern courtesy.
So escorted by some of the Arabs carrying their long staves of
wood or "nebuts," we passed on down the tortuous alleys of this
animated dust-heap, by tumbling hut, and dusty square, by the village
pond--half-dried with the summer heat, and from the margin of which
two or three palms reared their feathered heads, until the party came
to a standstill before a mud-hut, somewhat larger, perhaps, than its
surrounding neighbors, but not a whit less simple or ruinous.
Mud-built, with a low door and two small windows, it had little to
boast of grandeur, except a coat of whitewash which sadly needed
renewing. Like its fellows it was crowned with many white and gray jars
sunk into the muddy composition of the building, wherein a multitude of
pigeons found habitation; while every nook and corner round about these
earthen pigeon-homes was fitted with branches of sont or other wood to
serve as perches for them. Over the doorway was let into the mud of
the lintel the customary broken saucer to guard against and absorb the
harmful intentions of those possessed of the "evil-eye," and having
duly gazed thereon we were bidden to enter this unpretentious "home" of
the village shaykh.
The bright glare of the sun streaming in through the empty doorway
lent a sort of twilight to the interior of the hut sufficient to
distinguish objects clearly by. It was a large room--that is large
as things-Egyptian go--roofed with split palm logs intertwined with
their leaves, and its floor, like the walls, bare mud save for the kind
carpeting of sand which some windy day had carried thither. On two
sides of the room a couple of earthen "divans" faced each other, and
in the far corner was a large kulleh in which the grain provisions of
the family were doubtless stored, but other furniture there was none.
In the wall opposite the entrance, the dark shadow of another doorway
showed in contrast against the brown surroundings, but whether it led
into the intricacies of the shaykh's domestic household, or out into
some village lane, was wrapped in the secrecy of its own gloom.
In the centre of this square swallow's nest sort of habitation the
shaykh, myself, Gomah and some half-dozen elders of the village
had seated ourselves on the floor in a circle, and the inevitable
cigarettes and coffee were handed round. Over these we discussed, more
or less satisfactorily considering the extremely limited linguistic
powers possessed by myself, Gomah and the company, various topics
until the dinner hour of our aged host arrived.
I had hoped to have escaped this ordeal, but the laws of courtesy
forbade any retreat. Moreover I had some ambition to witness the
ordinary dinner of an Arab household, and this taking "potluck" with
a shaykh was a chance too excellent to be missed. The arrangements
were admirably simple, and charmingly well fitted to the general
convenience. In the centre of our circle an Arab boy first placed a
three-legged-stool affair on which he proceeded to balance a large
circular tray, big enough to hold dinner for twice the number of guests
present. In the middle of this improvised table he next placed an
enormous bowl of boiled beans--a veritable vegetable Goliath, steaming
and of decidedly savory odor--which he then surrounded with sundry
small saucers containing butter, sour milk, cream, carraway seeds, and
an infinitude of a peculiar kind of brown bread, which is happily only
to be found in the land of Pharaohs and Ptolemies. By the side of each
person was placed a small kulleh of water, and now the feast was ready.
Though I had attended at something of the same sort before in Egypt I
did not feel quite confident of the _modus operandi_ to be followed
here. Believing that possibly local customs might differ I concluded
the wiser course would be to await events and see how my neighbors
managed, so that I might adopt their method as my own. But alas! Arab
politeness was too rigid to allow me to carry out my desire, and from
the general delay it was evident that I was expected to lead off the
revels.
Accordingly putting a bold face on my doubts I broke off a piece of the
bread, dipped it first into the cream (for the excellent reason that
that particular saucer was nearest) then into the milk and anything
that came handy and--purposely forgetting that awful mountain of
beans--tried to look happy while I overcame the difficulties of the
unsavory morsel. Apparently my attempts at guessing the method in vogue
were not wholly unsuccessful, or the manners of my fellow guests were
too good to allow me to think otherwise, and with this debût away all
started at eating.
And how they did eat! To judge by the appetites being displayed around
me, there had not been any food distributed in the village for many a
long day. Into that fast diminishing mound of beans hands were plunging
each moment, bread was being broken and dipped into all the smaller
saucers seemingly indiscriminately, and water ever carried to the
well-nigh choked lips.
In the midst of all this I saw, with much expectant horror, the shaykh
arrange on a small piece of bread a choice (to him) assortment of
beans, butter, cream, and all the strange ingredients of the meal. Too
well I knew what that mistaken courtesy boded for me, and as its maker
leant invitingly forward, I had perforce to allow the old dusky rascal
to pop the undesirable morsel with all its hideous unpalatableness into
my mouth. When I had duly recovered the effects of this moment, the
tragedy had, of course, to be re-enacted on my own part. Calling into
play therefore all my lost memories of how to feed a young blackbird,
I concocted the counterpart of his admixture, and "catching his eye,"
I--well, reciprocated the compliment.
This incident seemed to end the first part of the entertainment and
the despoiled fragments were now taken away to be replaced by a
central pile of bread, adorned with similar small saucers, as before,
containing milk in various stages of sourness, cream, carraway seeds,
and honey. Here again was I expected to give the sign for beginning,
and so taking a fragment of bread I dipped it bodily with all the
contempt that comes of familiarity into the milk first, which loosened
its already very flabby consistency and then into the honey in which
it promptly broke off and stuck. This unlucky essay of mine proved too
much for the mirthfulness of some of the party, but one burly neighbor,
with a gentleness most foreign to his fierce aspect, undertook to show
me how to overcome the difficulty. It was very simple and my fault was
merely the ordinary one of reversing the order of things. First dipping
the bread into the honey my kind instructor then dipped it into the
milk and conveyed the result to his spacious mouth. Thus enlightened
I did likewise and achieved success, and all set to work again at the
edibles before them.
But this course was much less violent than the last, and soon disposed
of. When it was over the boy, who had heretofore filled the part of
food-bearer, came around to each guest in turn and poured over their
hands water from a pitcher which he carried, holding a bowl underneath
meanwhile, and presenting a cloth to each after such ablution. A not
unnecessary service, for the absence of knives and forks at dinner
may have the advantage of economy, and revert for authority to the
primitive days of Eden, but when carried out it is fraught with much
that is compromising to the fingers. Moreover Egyptian honey is no less
sticky than that of other lands.
The dinner was now wound up with coffee and cigarettes--not the least
pleasing part to me--and a hubbub of chatting. But as the evening
shadows were already creeping amongst the palms outside, and El
Wasta--my harbor of refuge for the night--was yet some distance off, I
begged my kind host's permission to continue my way. His Arab courtesy,
however, was not to be hindered even here, and he insisted upon
accompanying me to the confines of his village fields, where with many
pretty excuses for his years and duties he at last consented to bid me
farewell.
He left me to the care of "two of his young men," as he called them,
charging them to take me safely to El Wasta, the palms of which we
could see far down the river standing out against the evening sky.
Of the many pleasant mental photographs which I have of travel,
that simple dinner with my kind shaykh of the unknown village holds
a prominent tablet to itself. I had asked him for his ancient and
time-worn tobacco-pouch when bidding farewell, that I might have the
excuse of giving him mine in exchange, which at least had the advantage
to an Eastern eye of plenty of color and bright metal. A fellow
traveller whose wanderings have since led him by my steps of that day,
tells me he found the old shaykh still owning that poor gift of mine,
and that he keeps strange talismans and Koranic-script in its recesses
as an infallible preventive against the dangers of ophthalmia, and to
guard against his pigeon homes blowing down.
VIII.
A BIRTHDAY PARTY IN THE WEST INDIES.
WE were Americans and lived on one of the West India islands. Which one
I shall not say; you may guess from the hints I give you.
It belonged to Denmark, and was inhabited by people of almost every
nation, for the city was a busy trading place and famous sea-port.
This variety of nationalities is an advantage, or a disadvantage, just
as you choose to think. To us children it was the most delightful thing
in the world--why, we saw a Malay sailor once; but an English novelist,
who wrote many books, visited our island, and said in a contemptuous
way that it was "a Dano-Hispano-Yankee Doodle-niggery place." This was
in the book he published about the West Indies and the Spanish Main. We
children _never forgave that remark_.
An American refers incidentally to our old home in a beautiful story,
called _A Man Without a Country_. How the tears rolled down our cheeks
as we read that Philip Nolan had been there in the harbor--perhaps just
inside Prince Rupert's Rocks!
I wonder if you have read that story? To us it was almost sacred, so
strong was our love of country, and we believed every word to be true.
The first piece of poetry Tom wished to learn was "Breathes there a
man with soul so dead." But Tom was too small to learn anything but
Mother Goose at the time he had his Birthday Party. He was a chubby
little fellow, whose third anniversary was near at hand, and he was so
clamorous for a party--he scarcely knew what a party was, but he wanted
it all the more for that reason--that his parents laughingly gave way
to him.
We did not keep house as people do in this country; in fact the house
itself differed greatly from such as you see.
The climate was warm all the year round, and there were no chimneys
where no fires were needed. There were no glass windows, excepting on
the east side. At all other windows we had only jalousie blinds, with
heavy wooden shutters outside to be closed when a hurricane was feared.
The wonderful Trade Winds blew from the East, and sometimes brought
showers; for this reason, we had glass on that side. The floors were of
North Carolina pine, one of the few woods insects will not eat into and
destroy. It is a pretty cream yellow, that looked well between the rugs
scattered over it. Balconies and wide verandas were on all sides of the
house.
As to servants, they were all colored and we had to have a great many,
for each would only take charge of one branch of service, and usually
must have a deputy or assistant to help. For instance, Sophie, the
cook, had a woman to clean fish, slice beans, and do such work for her,
as well as attend to the fires. There was no stove in the kitchen. A
kind of counter, three feet wide and about as high, built of brick, was
on two sides of the room; this had holes in the top here and there. The
cooking was done over these holes filled with charcoal; so instead of
one fire to cook dinner, Sophie had a soup fire, a fish fire, a potato
fire, and so forth. A small brick oven baked the few things she cooked
that way.
Tom's nurse, or Nana, as all West India nurses were called, was a tall
negress, very dignified and imposing in her manners, and so good we
loved her dearly. She always wore a black alpaca gown, a white apron
covering the whole front of it, a white handkerchief crossed over
her bosom, and one tied over her hair. Her long gold ear-rings were
her only ornaments. These rings were very interesting, because Nana
often announced to us that she had lost a friend and was wearing "deep
mourning." This meant that she had covered her ear-rings with black
silk neatly sewed on. They were mournful-looking objects then, I assure
you.
I cannot describe all the servants, odd as they were, nor give you any
idea of their way of talking--Creole, Danish, and broken English--but
I must mention our butler, or "houseman," Christian Utendahl, the most
important member of the household in his own opinion.
As soon as the party was decided on, Christian and Nana were called in
to be consulted. Then it was discovered what a tiresome undertaking a
child's party might be. All children under the care of Nanas must have
those Nanas specially invited, and a particular kind of punch must be
made for them; then champagne must be provided for the little ones to
drink toasts.
"Oh, this will never do. I cannot think of such a thing," said mamma.
"I must advise you so to do, Madame," answered Christian. "Nana's punch
is lemonade wid leetle bit claret in it; and when you see de glasses
I'll permide fer de champagne you'll see fer you'sef dey can't hole a
timmle full. Fer de credit of de family, Madame, fer fear folks'll say
'Americains don't know how to behave,' I must adwise you."
The last sentence was a powerful argument, and the solemn negro used it
with effect.
Here Nana interposed, saying, "My lady, how you expec my leetle man to
know how to conduct hes-sef less we begin wid his manners jes now?"
Then she added that she could not appear without a new gown, apron and
head-handkerchief, and the apron _ought_ to have Mexicain drawn-work a
finger "deep at de bottom of it to be credi-tabble."
Next, Nana said the birthday cake _must_ be made by Dandy and covered
with as many "sugar babies" as there were guests.
These babies were pure sugar figures on straws and were stuck into the
cake through the icing.
"The 'Kranse Kage' and the 'Krone Kage' can be made at home by Ellen
and Sophie, Miss Lind and Mrs. Harrigen," said Christian.
"Is a 'Kranse Kage' absolutely necessary?" asked mamma. "It will keep
the women pounding almonds a whole day and it is very unwholesome."
"Of course it is necessary," said both advisers together, and "it would
bring de chile bad luck to have it made out of de house," said Nana.
"Then we will have it and dispense with the 'Krone Kage.'"