From here we went in the direction of Soissons, and, much to our surprise, were able to persuade the guard at the outskirts of the town to let us enter, for women are not really meant to be admitted, as the city is still under fire. In some ways, this was the most interesting thing we saw. The cathedral was a wonderful and saddening sight. I would give a great deal to be able to attend a service in it some night. They are still holding them in the ruins, and, with the sound of the guns, which is very distinct, and with all the uniforms, a service held in the ruined cathedral, with the windows all shattered, the roof mostly gone, and the outer walls all pitted and scarred, must be impressive. I could not get a good picture of the towers, or rather the one remaining one, but I shall have a copy of Sydney Fairbanks’s, which is taken from a neighboring roof, and is excellent. They say that there is not a house in Soissons which has not been hit, and I can believe it. There are quite a few inhabitants left still, and they say they are going to stay until the last gasp.
We could only stay for a short time, for we were due for lunch at the American Escadrille, Flying Corps, which has its headquarters at Chaudon, south of Soissons. I had hoped that this would be the corps which I knew, but was not too sure, for the last time we had seen Harold Willis he was at Ham. However, you can imagine whether I was pleased to see, when we drove up to the camp, all the people whom I knew: Walter Lovell and Stephen Bigelow and Harold Willis. I, being the only thing this side of thirty in the party, naturally had a time! We had a swell luncheon, and afterwards saw everything there was to see. It is lucky for your peace of mind, Daddy, that they have only single passenger machines now, for nothing would have stopped me if they could have taken me up. I never was so thrilled by anything—to see them fly in circles, and upside down, and every which way, was too wonderful. Harold told me all about the engine, and how to work it, and I even got inside his machine and tried the whole thing. I hate to say it, but I am going to have a fly some day before I die, and, if I have a rich husband, I shall have flying machines, not jewels, for my hobby. I saw the most wonderful pictures, and, oh, hundreds of things. They have two lion cubs for mascots, and the best-looking dogs you ever saw—one German sheep dog is so intelligent it is hard to believe that he can’t speak. You simply tell him anything and he does it. He belongs to the captain. After spending as long a time there as we could, we came home via La Ferte Millon and Meaux, taking in the old battlefield of the Marne, and seeing Miss Aldrich’s House on the Marne. It was hard to believe that this district was once as much fought over as that which we saw first—it is so grown up now. For one thing, they did not use barbed-wire entanglements half as much as they do now. I cannot get over the miles and miles and miles of fields we saw, all criss-crossed with wire. I keep wondering who is going to take it all up when the war is over.
We arrived in Paris at about eight o’clock, and it was a tired but thrilled Marje who came home to Rootie.
Lots and lots of love from your loving and very sleepy daughter,
Marje.
XIX
FROM ESTHER
Wednesday, June 20, 1917. 11:15 P.M.
Dearest Father:—
I don’t know whether or not I have explained to you sufficiently about my vacation; but I do know that the work and life in general are going more smoothly now than for some time past, and that with the spring more or less broken into by one thing and another, I am only too glad to have a steady stretch in which to work without any more interruptions than necessary. I shouldn’t know what to do with myself for two or three months’ vacation, and the present arrangement, of having the month of August and every other Monday off, seems ideal to me.
For over a month we have doubled up, Marje and I, and are just twice as happy as we were. You will remember that the marginal space in which I lived and moved, always carefully, around my bed, was small to say the least (certainly Madame gave me bed and board!), and what was worse, it was in the other apartment from Marje. By a strange system of two keys hung on each front door, passing across from one apartment to the other was made as difficult as possible. We called it going through the portcullis, having no idea what that meant. And next to Marje’s room was the big salon of the apartment, thriftily converted by Madame into a bedroom and exclusively tenanted by the wife of a French officer. To her I made appeal one fine day—after hours of egging on and double-daring, etc.—that she exchange rooms with me. Here she was surrounded by gray paneling, a bay window, a carved marble mantelpiece, and easy access to the dining-room; whereas I had to offer her a room of no size, no sunlight, the pink wall-paper, red leather armchair, and chimney that won’t draw. However, there must have been something in my manner, or even something in my smile, or in the fact that my room was two francs a day cheaper and had running water in the cabinet, that made her want to exchange. Also, the doors to the salon are broad and made of glass with only china silk curtains to protect one, and she felt—happily—that it wasn’t quite convenable for a chambre à coucher. Tuesday morning dawned. All the maids turned out in excitement. Madame was everywhere at once, particularly where a poor little sandy-haired tapissier was doing his best to move a two-ton armoire; the whole idea was considered so bizarre—to have one room as bedroom, with two armoires at once—that the work of it all presented thrills. I never saw such dust and flurry, or such an accumulation of junk as I extracted from my former nest.