PERROLIFE, _Mayor_.
April 27, 1919.
Always the French were kind, courteous and understanding and expressed
again and again their admiration and sympathy for our soldiers.
Two or three of the hikes taken by our men were so full of historic
interest as to be worthy of a brief description. None afforded quite so
much fun as that to Mt. Revard. Breakfast at seven and an eight o’clock
start on the little steam tram to Chambery was the order. At Chambery
the train was taken for Aix-les-Bains. There a half day was given to
seeing the places of interest already described, and for lunch. At
12.30 all assembled at the Mt. Revard station to ascend on the cog
railway. Any description of the ever-changing and widening view of the
ascent fails in its attempt to give a real idea of the beauty, splendor
or majesty of the scenery as they in turn reveal themselves. More than
five thousand feet the train climbs, stopping for a moment at two
stations where the natives sell apples and give away smiles and good
cheer.
On the top the whole snow-clad Alpine system is in view. One sees the
whole Bernese Oberland system and Mt. Blanc, almost fifty miles away,
seems but a good hike distant on a clear day. But the real fun comes
with the coasting, skiing and other snow sports—for Mt. Revard is snow
clad most of the year. The train descends steeply at many places, but
it has been a rare day that men will recount to their children and
grand-children, so no one seems afraid. “Overseas” songs in joyful
strain fill the echoing caves and crevices and float out on the lake as
the day closes and the train returns them to Aix-les-Bains.
Lake Bourget, the largest and most beautiful of French lakes, offered
another happy day. First, by train to Bordeau or to Aix-les-Bains,
thence by boat out on Lake Bourget. We ride across its shimmering
surface and fathomless depth; mountains surround it on all sides and
are reflected in all their glory on the lovely water of this lake. We
are told that although it is in the region of snow and ice it never
freezes, because of an undercurrent or springs of hot water. On the
mountain sides, no matter how steep, one sees vineyards—vineyards
almost everywhere. Chateaux or villas lend added charm to the scene.
Among these one sees one called the _Maison du Diable_—house of the
devil—with a strange tradition attached to it. One sees also the _Hotel
du Bois di Lamartine_—so named because it is located in a grove named
for the poet Lamartine. It was there he found inspiration for many of
his poems, including “Le Lac.” The Chateau St. Gilles and the Chateau
Chatillon, in which one of the popes of Rome was born are also to be
seen. But the dominating architecture of Lake Bourget is Hautecombe
Abbey, with its octagonal towers and many windows toward which our
steamer makes its way.
Hautecombe Abbey was founded in 1125 by some Benedictine monks who,
inspired by Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, decided to change to the
Cistercian Order. The Abbey has, with the rest of Savoie, seen many
vicissitudes as a result of wars, but for nearly seven hundred years it
remained in the hands of the Cistercians. When the French Revolution
came, the monks fled and the Abbey passed into the hands of the nation
for a time. Through all the preceding centuries it had been the burial
place for the House of Savoie. Finally, in 1824, it was bought at
private expense by Charles Felix, Duke of Savoie, who was also King of
Sardinia. He at once proceeded to have restored this burial place of
his ancestors and to put in charge again some monks of the Cistercian
Order. Again, in 1860, the Abbey went into the hands of France, but
by special treaty in 1862, it was made the private property of Victor
Emmanuel II and is now the property of the present King of Italy.
The most historic part of the Abbey is the beautiful Gothic church.
Many chapels with massive tombs of Italian royalty are to be found.
Some of them are of the finest Carrara marble as is also the beautiful
Pieta, by Cacciatori. The dome is decorated with paintings of great
interest and value. There is a wonderful hand carved organ and
paintings by famous artists over the chancel. In every little niche
may be seen little statues of weeping women, some five hundred of them
and all different. Much history, tradition and mystery link themselves
to all that one sees in the church.
Next is shown a Royal Suite that was fitted up in 1825 for Charles
Felix and Marie Christine. Everything is well preserved. Visitors,
and especially women, are not admitted to the part of the Monastery
occupied by the monks. Each time we made this trip, we were somehow
moved by the sight of hundreds of khaki-clad soldiers making their way
quietly through this old Abbey.
Every schoolboy has heard how Hannibal crossed the Alps, so that a
day’s outing to Hannibal’s Pass, although in involved much hiking, was
always a popular one. The men would go by tram again to the little
fishing village of Bordeau on Lake Bourget, then ascend the Cat
Mountain to a pass that opens into the valley of the Rhone. Standing
among these wonderful Alps a Y man would repeat the story of the hero
of Carthage who, more than two centuries before the birth of Christ,
had climbed with his army to this Pass and then descended into Italy.
He would tell how he suffered great loss of men and much hardship but
how he was a determined foe of the Romans and so fought them unto death.
Our own favorite hike was that which took us southward from
Challes-les-Eaux, along the main road with the mountains on either side
and in front of us—past the ruins of a picturesque chapel, destroyed
by Napoleon Bonaparte when he, too, crossed the Alps; up the hill to
the little village of Myans resting at the foot of Mount Granier. For
all of the four miles from Challes-les-Eaux to Myans, the life one
looks upon seems to have moved not one pace forward for many centuries.
Ancient customs in life and houses make up the picture and yet withal
one finds a charming hospitality native to these people so far removed
from the hurry and fret of life. But we hiked those four miles to visit
the Church of Myans with its Black Madonna that has reposed there for
so many centuries, and has become a famous place of pilgrimage for
many French people. Much of tradition and history wraps itself around
the Black Madonna. Many years ago a landslide came to this section.
One looks up and sees how absolutely bare it has left one side of Mt.
Granier. We are told that the landslide destroyed everything except
the church—even a part of it was destroyed, but the Black Madonna and
the praying monks at its altar were not hurt. This Madonna that in all
probability came from Spain, is one of the few of its kind saved in the
general destruction of the Black Madonnas as ordered by Napoleon. The
Virgin and child are life size and wrought out of black ebony. Her robe
is of gold and on her head is a crown in which are embedded priceless
jewels. She is very sacred to the villagers and to all of Catholic
faith. One finds there many photographs and relics left by pilgrims who
have come for healing. But the chief interest to us lay in the finely
chiseled black faces of mother and child to whom so many devoutly kneel.
Eight days filled with hikes, such as we have described, games,
entertainments of various kinds and music always at hand, were usually
sufficient to re-invigorate the soldier and send him away glad and
grateful for abundant life, lovely nature and warm-hearted friends.
The Y folk worked hard to strike a high note for the future of these
soldiers by teaching them how to rightly interpret and use their
wonderful “overseas” experience.
Just here may we say that with both Mrs. Curtis and Mrs. Hunton were
associated the finest types of Y men to be found in France. Mr. William
Stevenson, who had done such valuable work at Montoir, brought to
the Leave Area, all his fine ideals, which, with his hard work and
pleasant manners, gave him great success. Mr. Matthew Bullock, who
had gone over the top with the 15th New York, because of his football
fame at Dartmouth, was well known to the soldiers. His strong helpful
personality also counted for much in the lives of the men who visited
the Leave Area. There was Mr. Henry Dunn who had come over from the
army and who conducted the hikes. We have never since met a man who was
at Challes-les-Eaux that he has not asked for Mr. Dunn. Messrs. Watkins
and Shockley, just as fine and energetic and beloved by the men, formed
the group working at Challes-les-Eaux. At Chambery Mr. William Anderson
was not only business manager, but the sympathetic, understanding
friend of all. There were also Mr. Scroggins, who hiked with the
men and who will ever live in their memory; Lieut. Garrie Moore, who
having done successful boy’s work for the International Committee of
the Young Men’s Christian Association in the United States, came over
from the army to give the benefit of his knowledge to the Y in France,
and Messrs. Kindal and Parks, who did such successful athletic work.
All these men gave the very best in them to the soldiers who came under
their care in the Leave Area.
It was a kind providence that sent Captain Arthur Spingarn to the Leave
Area. The true friend of the colored people in the United States, he
was no less so as a soldier in France. Thoroughly fine in spirit and
personality, he was at all times an inspiration and help to the colored
secretaries working under his guidance.
The Leave Area is but a memory, but it is a beautiful one, linking
thousands of soldiers and welfare workers in a chain of comradeship
that cannot be broken. It was the mountain of vision and hope in France
for those who reached it. It was the balm in Gilead.
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