Part 12
Everything is most delightfully upset at the Vestiaire. Rootie and I turned up for work as usual this A.M., and found that the balcony of the Arts Décoratifs building--on rue Rivoli--had been offered to the workers at the Vestiaire this morning, to watch the parade of our soldiers! We just all tumbled into the two cars as fast as we could,--Dr. Shurtleff coming in ours,--and with Rootie driving, we followed Miss Curtis as fast as we could over to the Louvre. When we arrived at the entrance to the garden, under those old gray stone arches, there were many policemen guarding the way, and they all pointed down the street, saying that we must follow the Quai, but Mrs. Shurtleff leaned out of the car and said that we were an American oeuvre, and that we were going to see our soldiers from special seats, so they let us through. We put the cars in one corner of the garden and then went through to the Arts Décoratifs building. The balcony was one flight up, and almost on the corner of rue des Pyramides, where the statue of Jeanne d'Arc is. We could see the procession as it rounded the corner at the Place de la Concorde, and watch it out of sight down the rue Rivoli. The sidewalks were already lined with people, and the balconies all along were full of people. Just as we could hear the drums faintly, and could just make out the Garde de Paris on their horses, with their white belts and shining brass helmets, we heard an ah-h--run through the crowd. A flying machine--one of the smaller French ones, with the tricolor painted on each wing--was making circles and diving down low, and soaring up again over the soldiers as they crossed the Concorde. The pilot was magnificent to watch, but very reckless, for he flew so low and turned such tremendously quick curves that if anything went wrong, he would have hurt many people, and, of course, not had a chance himself. However, it was wonderful to watch, and got the crowd thoroughly excited. It made me think of the performance the first man gave who went up to show us--when we were at Chaudon, seeing the American Escadrille. When he came down, he got fits from the captain for taking such chances! After a short wait, they came, and the crowd just went mad: first, the Garde Républicaine, on wonderful-looking horses; then a French band, all in uniform, of course, and much to our joy they struck up a tune just at our corner. They were such a fine-looking lot of men--short, thick-set, hardy, jovial chaps, each one with a rose either pinned to his coat or stuck in his helmet strap. The few soldiers who formed sort of a guard for the band had their roses stuck in the end of their rifles!
After these came the Americans!! Oh, it was great! A score of mounted officers leading, with one French capitaine in the middle, and then the band, with a drum major and all! It was too thrilling to ever put down on paper. The crowd just howled and shouted and jumped up and down, threw flowers, and we on the balcony yelled as loud as we could. Then another very fine-looking officer, and right behind him the soldiers. Not so very many, only one battalion,--the Sixteenth Infantry, the flag said,--but a fine-looking lot of soldiers. They were noticeably taller than the French, were very thin, and all much tanned. I think they must have been in Mexico. The crowd let the first half march past, but the last division, which for some reason did not have their rifles, were surrounded by the mob, which just carried them along, all good-naturedly shouting and pushing, so that the ranks were broken badly in some places. This did not add to the looks of the parade from a military point of view, but it was so typically French. They simply had to join in, and the police were powerless, so that the end of the parade was a seething mass of soldiers, Boy Scouts, men and women, with a few police trying vainly to keep the people back. I shall never forget it. It was magnificent. I hate to think that our country has come into it finally, and I couldn't help thinking all the time that these men, who are walking down the street so gayly now, will probably go to the front and be killed soon; what for? It does seem so wicked, but the French need something to put new enthusiasm into them, for even that undying thing, French courage, is showing signs of wearing out after these three years, and now the American soldiers actually getting here does thrill them. It was so thrilling to see a French crowd get so excited. You know how it just carries you away to hear thousands yelling and clapping. It was mighty interesting. I imagine it is about the first time that "The Fourth" has been celebrated in Paris. After it was over, we came back to the Vestiaire, and settled down to a morning's work. I told Dr. S. that we ought to have a holiday this afternoon, and he agreed; so he talked to Mrs. S. and we are to have the whole P.M. free! I had left my typewriter at home, so I brought my cards and things home, and am going to do them after lunch and to-night. They can wait a little, and I do want to get this off so.
I will take a chance on the censor reading this, and tell you the little that we know over here. In many ways we are as much out of touch with things as you are. France does seem to be really feeling the war more than she has admitted hithertofore. It is evident in the way the people talk in the Metro and at the restaurant and everywhere. It is shown in the constant strikes--the women too. This last strike of the taxis is in some ways a good thing--the Metro now runs all night, or rather until midnight, which is much more convenient. Russia, from all one hears, is out of the game, for the present, at any rate. She is not to be reckoned with either way. Dr. G. feels that the Allies are lucky if she does not make a separate peace. Mr. A. feels that if the Allies with our help, mostly moral help, can give Germany a big scare in the next few weeks, maybe there will be an upheaval there, and that the Kaiser will abdicate, and then every one will be ready to talk peace. If not, and if the Germans get a good harvest,--and there is every prospect of their doing so,--he feels that she has won; that she can go on forever. Every one now admits, even French officers, that the spring offensive was a failure, and the loss of life was something terrible, worse than Verdun; also that the Germans have the upper hand now in a military way. The submarine question you can get little news about. England runs that news, and so one can tell nothing. Certainly there are a great many more losses than they will acknowledge. For instance, Dr. Gibbons told me that several times he will see in the German lists certain boats sunk many days before the British publish it. There is no doubt about it, the French are lacking many things, principally flour and sugar. The bread over here is very bad now, very dark, coarse, and often sour. We buy bread baked in loaves from a pain de santé store, which is conveniently located on rue Ernest Cresson. Inasmuch as London, at any rate, was much more poorly off than Paris when I was there in January, it is reasonable to suppose that they are still worse off, particularly as the Germans have sunk more English ships than any other nation's. It seems to be hard to get any definite reports as to the conditions in England; no one comes to France via England any more!
It is pretty late now, so I will stop. Lots and lots of love from your daughter,
MARJE.
XXI
FROM ESTHER
Place Denfert-Rochereau (XIV), July 23, 1917.
DEAREST MOTHER:--
It is great to know that you are all so happy at Bailey's and accomplishing so much for us. Little sister, sitting with hands folded on the other side of Periscope Pond, wonders why the youngsters don't amuse themselves sometimes by erecting, or by listening to Charles Thomas erect, a good spring-board. We've needed one long; and if you don't think that summer posterity would be grateful, then you don't know this member of it as well as I think you do.
I have the queerest feeling when I talk about summer and Bailey's. Life goes along just the same here: up every morning, work all day, tea, more work, dinner, write, or play, and then bed. The weather is cool and beautiful, sometimes quite cold, occasionally rainy, but always I think of it being April, or possibly May; and a week from Wednesday is the first of August. Guess where I'll be! Our vacation plans are very exciting and I can't wait for this week to be over. This is how things have worked out.
When Father cabled me about going to Switzerland, the last thing on earth that I wanted to do was to go on a vacation. I considered my week of grippe and my week at Saint-Germain a terrible lapse, and wanted to do everything in the world to make up for it. Agathe had been sent on a vacation, because she was worn out, and then I went off, leaving Mrs. L---- all alone at the Vestiaire. I worked as hard as I could during May, doing Vestiaire work in the morning, and visiting in the afternoon, driving the car a good deal, taking the big packages to the stations and sending them off, and doing a good many odd jobs. On the 15th of June, Mrs. L---- went away on her vacation, and I was left in charge of the Vestiaire, with Agathe to help. It was a circus and I enjoyed it hugely. Then on the 23d Marje broke her wrist and besides being pretty hard to bear for a while, it tied things up considerably. I was the sole chauffeur for the Association, and the sole hairdresser, amanuensis, shoe-tier, bath-giver, etc., at Place-Denfert. Miss Curtis went over to the American Red Cross about the first of July, where she is invaluable. We miss her tremendously, however, and there will have to be a new distributing of work in the fall. Marje and I just adore her, and we miss working with her, but she brings Miss Sturgis down to work every morning in the car so that we see her a good deal, anyway. She is the most clear-headed, honest, intelligent, nice person I ever knew. She is always a sport about everything--I can't imagine her doing anything that wasn't so square that an ordinary person wouldn't ever even think of doing it. Marje and I would like to be just like her--and if ever anybody wasn't, it's me! She has blue eyes and a deep voice, anyway; and I don't believe you can be really efficient without them.
Well, there wasn't much chance for a vacation for me, was there? And I had no desire to go away and would even now stay with Marje if her arm wasn't healing so wonderfully that she can go away right on schedule too. Mrs. L---- got back last Monday, the 16th, and Mrs. Shurtleff left on Tuesday, the 17th. I took her and all her trunks down to Gare Montparnasse in a perfect cloudburst, and then had to come back for a little hatbox. It's the best thing I do to handle other people's trunks; but you just wait till next Tuesday and I'll be off myself. Mrs. Shurtleff is beyond compare adorable, and I was glad of the extra visit I had with her.
These last two weeks are being spent in winding up loose threads, having a few families come to the Vestiaire, moving the last people on our list, going out to Montrouge for our last gasoline supply, calling for contributions of beds, sewing-machines, etc., buying a store of food for the Food Department, etc., etc.
We have arranged with friends to take turns at the office during August, attending to important mail, sending out notices that the Vestiaire is closed until October, giving out food to our regular families every Tuesday, etc. The weather is no hardship--nothing like the heat of May and June, and for blueness and clearness equaled only at Bailey's.
Well, Marje and I decided, way back when the snow flew, that we would be one and inseparable, now and forever, in regard to vacation; but as August loomed nearer, all we heard were the most discouraging reports of discomfort and expense in regard to hotels. So many of the usual resorts are closed that the few hotels anywhere that are attractive, that are open, boost their prices way up. The last thing we wanted to do was to chase around after vacation started, to find a perch. We inquired about Switzerland and were told by the Embassy that it was feasible; but by business men and the general public that it was made as difficult and unpleasant as possible to get back. Marje dreads a long train trip, and I knew Mrs. Shurtleff would have a fit if we went, and would worry over us.
One day we asked Miss Curtis and Miss Sturgis quite casually what their plans were, and Miss Curtis said that all she wanted was to be "somewhere near the sea, tied by the leg and left to browse." Then Miss Buchanan, the terribly nice Scotch girl, sculptor, who gives half her time to the work, was sounded, and we found we all wanted the same thing. We got Baedeker, picked out euphonious names, and wrote to thirteen different hotels. One answered--and sent a hideous post-card view. Miss Sturgis and Miss Curtis keep house and were going to send the maids off somewhere. Suddenly they proposed taking a villa, and a Miss Hyde, also a worker, told us of the villa she had rented last year, and I went over and telegraphed, and yesterday morning got a reply that it was free, so we've taken it! It's in Brittany, near Dinard, and we go Tuesday, July 31st, on a couchette, and arrive the next morning. We have no linen and no silver, no coal or wood; no lamps or anything; but we have plans! Doesn't it sound entrancing? Villa Valérie, Val André, Côtes-du-Nord. I'm just squealing with joy!
ESTHER.
XXII
FROM MARJORIE
Villa Valérie, Val André, par Pleneuf, Côtes-du-Nord, August 7, 1917.
DEAREST MOTHER:--
Back to the country is my cry! Simple life, and, therefore, simple paper. We bought this at Pleneuf the day before yesterday, when for the second time we tooted over there to get our papers signed, only to find that the Mairie closes at eleven and at four! Since then we have decided that it is easier to let the paper question slide, as long as the Mairie has such inconvenient hours!
We certainly are the luckiest crew that ever sailed! Here we are comfortably settled in a nice little villa, with all the comforts of home and none of the responsibilities, for the maids (Miss Curtis's and Miss Sturgis's) take all of that, and all we have to do is to eat the excellent food which is offered us and sleep and loaf all day long. We have all wanted to go off for the month together, but have not known where to go nor how to get there; so we sat around and waited for something to happen, and sure enough, a friend offered us this villa. We just grabbed it, and came down a week ago to-morrow. I simply cannot believe that we are in France. Paris, refugees, jitney Fords, and work seem so far away. We are certainly leading a healthy life, and, if we do not all go back to Paris with a healthy burn and lots of energy, it will not be the fault of the wonderful air and, I might say, sea, down here. I do not think that any of us realized how tired we were until we arrived. Since then we have taken things easy.
We breakfast any time after 9 A.M., and we babies (Rootie and myself) have an EGG for breakfast. That does not sound like anything to you, but it means a lot to us--nice, fresh eggs that are brought in by a girl who makes me think of Josey, she is so persistent; the poor hens hardly have time to lay, she is looking for the eggs so constantly! Also we have our coffee more like American citizens! No more boiled milk for us; also toasted bread. We find that the bread here is very good, and particularly so when toasted. After breakfast, we all sit around and plan what is to happen. Usually Miss Sturgis and Miss Curtis and Miss Buchanan go off to paint, leaving Rootie and myself. We try to write a few letters, but it is awfully hard, with all the things we want to talk over now that we have the time, and with the delightful peasant women cutting the hay and doing the gardening right under our windows. Also there is always Marthe, very different, very quiet and gentle, and quite reconciled to our queer ways; but Marthe cannot get over the "Demoiselles" putting butter on fried potatoes! However, she brushes our clothes so hard and so faithfully that it makes me wish I had brought my suit down to be cared for by her.
Luncheon comes at 12.30, or whatever time we get home. We have a way of just running up to the top of the hill for one peep at the sea at 12.15, which gives us great joy, and does not seem to bother the maids. We eat on the porch, all covered with honeysuckle, roses, and with a beautiful fig tree just outside.
The war seems very far away down here. There is a hospital in the village, but otherwise than that one can hardly believe that while we are loafing and playing down here, men are being slaughtered at the front, which, after all, is not too far away! I told you that Miss Curtis went over to the Red Cross, for they offered her a splendid position in just the line of work she is most interested in, and, of course, Mrs. Shurtleff wouldn't have her stay with our little work when she has the chance to be part, and an important part, of such a big one. She is to take charge of the reconstructing of four devastated villages, which are to be models to the rest which the Red Cross expect to do later. She goes up from here on the 13th, and, after she gets her papers, will go to the villages in question and live there, working among the people, planning how to get the village on its feet again. All her work is to be with the view to making recommendations in the future to other committees who will do the same work. The Red Cross is to work through existing organizations, and to make recommendations and give money to workers who will be capable of reorganizing these villages. Miss Curtis will have a wonderful experience, won't she? She is taking Miss Sturgis with her, which is rather a gloom for us, for I do not believe that we will ever see either of them at 18 rue Ernest Cresson again, for they are wavering about going home this winter. Also, of course, the Red Cross will work in many other fields, but this reconstruction is one of the most important.
* * * * *
Needless to say, I was unable to finish this without being interrupted. To-day is Tuesday, and I cannot believe that we have been here a whole week. Miss Curtis will be leaving us soon, and then we will all be left to amuse ourselves. Yesterday she suggested that we should each tell all we could about our homes, families, and she and Miss Sturgis proceeded. They were too funny. They had to correct each other all the time, and, of course, they each know all about the other's relations. They kept it up for a couple of hours, giving us the most minute details about the sisters and brothers, and also describing the insides of their town and country houses! It was such fun, we enjoyed it thoroughly. To-day Rootie, Miss Buchanan, and I tell about our folks. I just have to laugh when I think of how I will describe the Green House which is so beautiful when you learn to appreciate it, but, from a purely architectural point of view, is not perfect! Also 378! Never mind, I am just waiting to have them all down to Marion some day, and to show them what a wonderful family I have, and to give them a sail that will make them all jealous the rest of their lives. I feel as if I were more or less equipped to tell about the Roots, and I guess that Rootie feels the same about us, so I suppose we will be able to supplement each other's story.
We have discovered another attraction to this villa! Out in a very dirty and unattractive-looking hen-yard, which Miss Curtis wanted to investigate, we found a box covered with wire, and with five or six of the dearest little rabbits you ever saw. They are quite tame and allowed us to hold them for a long time, just cuddling down on our necks, all warm and so soft! I am happy now, for I have a pet to play with. I admit that we need a dog, but that does not seem to be practicable just now, so the bunnies will have to do.
Luncheon is almost ready, and I plainly see that to be popular I had better stop this noise. I will write you again soon, and tell you more about how perfectly lovely it is here. Until then don't worry about me not having a good rest and a splendid time, for I am. I have already plans as to what a lot more work Rootie and I can do this winter, now that we will be the oldest workers--not in years, but in time. Lots and lots of love to all. You have none of you said whether you liked or even read my letter about going up to the front. I sent it by Ibby with the pictures and relics for Josey.
Lots and lots of love from
Your daughter, MARJE.
XXIII
FROM ESTHER
Villa Valérie, Val André, Côtes-du-Nord, Sunday morning, August 26.
DEAREST FAMILY:--
Last week I let time and the postman creep up on me so that I didn't have time to write, but I hope from my meager notes you have been able to get some sort of an idea of Val André and of our household here. It has been a month of glorious weather, with such clouds and shadows as I never saw before I had a paint-box. The cliffs are high and rounded, covered with gorse, thistles, and other wild flowers. They drop steeply down to a rocky base, and then smooth away in a glorious beach. Val André and the headlands just to the north form a sort of ace of clubs, with beaches in between. The big popular beach, edged by pink and turquoise bathing-houses and high-shouldered stone villas, we shun consistently. In the afternoon it is rather lovely to watch the ever-active little French children, barelegged and nimble, build sand-castles to stand on triumphantly until the incoming tide has flattened out their afternoon's work. The dark-haired bonnes sit in groups on camp-chairs and sew as they gossip, and here and there a deeply veiled mother makes a dark note as she sits quietly in the shade of a brilliantly striped awning.
There is a military hospital in an old convent on the main road, and the convalescents wander around, or lean out of the windows. These and the occasional permissionnaires are the only close reminders of the war that we have. The beautiful rolling wheat-fields behind our villa are cultivated by women, and it makes my back ache to watch them lean over, hour after hour, their sunburned hands making heavy bundles of wheat.
We have spent two or three glorious nights in a favorite hollow on the hillside, just at the top of the highest falaise. We put the two big hold-alls on the ground, then a coat, then ourselves, then blankets. You never saw such stars. Early in that first morning we heard voices down on the beach below, and saw the fisherwomen with their lanterns taking fish out of big nets stretched on the sand.
Then the dawn came, and a pink and lavender and yellow sunrise. We sat up on our elbows and watched. The sand was wet, and the grass about us covered with dew. The light comes so subtly.
We didn't wake again until after eight. Marje and I scrambled down the cliff and had a delicious swim. The water was a clear emerald and the foam as white as white!
We have had a glorious time with Miss Curtis--Aunt Midge, as we call her. The daughter of the family with whom she and Miss Sturgis have lived, Mlle. Griette, came on Thursday and makes a fascinating sixth to our party. Her father was president of the Collège de France and a well-known man. She is cultured to a degree, about twenty-four, and simply charming. She understands English perfectly,--her knowledge of English literature puts Marje and me to shame,--yet she hates to speak a word. In consequence, we speak English and she French, and the effect is sometimes joyous in the extreme.