University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER 11

Colmar and Heiligkreuz

My Dear Mother:

If you were here my happiness would be increased a thousand fold, and, from the state I am now in, I judge I would require another body. Owing to the mistake of the proprietor at Mayence, concerning the train schedule, we missed the express and were compelled to take the local; thus, carried far out of our way and stopping at all the tiny stations, we lost several hours. I was quite weary, and when we reached Worms and were told to change cars for Strasburg my fears became intense, having a vision of an all day jaunt through Alsace. At Strasburg another wait. Here we obtained a lunch of sausages, beer, bread and fruit. I would have preferred visiting the famous cathedral, but Ed said, "no," we must eat here, as in Colmar we would not wish to lose the time required to obtain luncheon, so my view of the church was obtained from the passing train.

Colmar at two o'clock. We were driven quickly to this hotel, the newest and best in the city. We have an immense room on the second floor, containing two handsomely carved beds, with crimson silk covers, seven chairs, two wash stands, two tiny night tables, one large table, a couch, an immense wardrobe with two full length mirrors, and a piano; all for the sum of one dollar and seventy-five cents per day for two. What do you think of that? I would like to remain here all summer.

Having a letter to Prof. H., of Colmar, from his brother, Rev. Fr. H. of S., we drove immediately to his address.

After ponderous knocking and prolonged ringing of the bell we were ready to conclude another hitch in our arrangements had occurred. From a window in a house opposite a woman leaned out and inquired as to the cause of the disturbance. Our driver replied: "two Americans to see Prof. H." She suggested we try the school, so away over the well worn cobble stones; were greeted warmly by many boys, but informed that Prof. H. was absent. Just as we had decided to drive alone to Heiligkreuz, a breathless boy appeared, waving his hat wildly. When he could speak he said: "Come back with me, Mrs. H. is home!" We were cordially welcomed by a handsome lady gowned in black, who assured us of regret that Prof. H. was unavoidable absent, attending a board meeting. She had been out shopping. We chatted pleasantly, sipping wine of '65. Ed made a jolly interpreter, but I have fully decided to master the French language. I cannot talk through another. When we informed Madam H. of the very few hours at our disposal, she kindly offered to accompany us to Heiligkreuz and do her utmost to find a few relatives for me.

Down the six-mile avenue of trees which connects Colmar and Heiligkreuz, the mountains showing blue in the distance just as I have so often heard it described. It required little imagination to picture the quaint girl of long ago, stepping quietly along the beautiful lane; now inhaling the fragrance of a flower, pausing to listen to the song of a bird and ever turning wistful eyes toward the far off mountains. Dear Grandmother! How deeply within my heart she planted the love of her country, her home.

Up the old world street to the village inn. The low-ceilinged room, its massive cupboard, plain tables and smiling landlady was as my fancy painted. Here we learned the village postmistress belonged to the family of M., and a child was dispatched for her. In a great arm chair beside a many-paned window sat an old woman in the quietude of age. Being told she was the god-mother of our Rev. Fr. H., Ed delighted her with news of him. The door opened quickly and in came a plump little body, excitedly demanding her cousin from America. Madam H. introduced me, and I received a warm welcome, yet her dismay at my inability to speak either French or German was amusing. Ed came gallantly to the rescue, and then she was inclined to think Madam H. was misinformed and he was truly the cousin. I was delighted with the artless way in which she inquired if it was true that her American cousins were Indians. Did not all Indians, "wear a scarcity of clothes and many feathers, and much paint?" If so, how could "my cousin" be an Indian? Ed gave her my genealogical tree, and ere its completion she exclaimed, "Is it thus Indians are now made in American? What queer customs!" If she knew that it is only a few short months since a "paternal" government performed for me a vital operation, "removal of restrictions," thus declaring me capable of managing my own affairs she would doubtless expire of sheer astonishment.

I could not walk too swiftly along the cobble stones oft pressed by your childish feet, to the "house on the corner of the court house square, facing the village well," where so many generations have lived. The old house is vacant now, yet it stands immovable in majestic age, seeming to brood over the days gone by, when it sent forth lusty children to battle with the world. Surrounded by a stone wall, with massive gates, it looks as if built to withstand the ravages of time. The rooms are hung with cobwebs, and so forlorn, yet withal holding a dignity born of centuries. The stairs are worn by the pressure of many feet, the woodwork is falling into decay, and the room wherein you and many before you first drew breath is oh, so lonely. It seems to listen for the voices of the babes of long ago. This quaint house was the home of the matron whose kindness to a wounded enemy saved the village from fire and sword in the wars of long ago. Here, too, lived the soldier of Napoleon, your grandfather, ever recounting the deeds of his hero, and filling the hearts of his children and their descendants, even to the third generation, with loyalty to the "man of destiny."

It is good to feel that for centuries you have had a part in the affairs of this old world of ours. Upstairs and down we wandered, peeping here and there, lingering in the court yard where you played, finding everywhere fresh delight. In the attic, such rummaging. Here we found many things once belonging to grandmother's family, for you know this is her home, her village. Grandfather came from another, in the mountains. There stood the cupboard fashioned by him for his bride, "la belle Marie," the spinning wheel to whose music many a housewife had listened. The cousin, seeing me regard the latter with longing eyes, offered it. Alas, when Ed removed it from its resting place, it fell into many pieces. It was only the wraith of a wheel. I am bringing home a tiny bit of it for you, dear. We sat in the huge arm chair built for the old soldier, my grandfather, when he came courting Marie. I asked for your cradle. The cousin said it was elsewhere in the village; tomorrow she would find it for me. Ed told her for us there is no "tomorrow" here.

Perhaps it is well I did not see it, for how could I have left it behind.

Around the corner, barely two blocks away, is the village church, with its bit of the true cross, from whence the name. I knelt before the altar of the Madonna, with its marvelous statue of the poor, sorrowing mother, with her tear-dimmed eyes, looking down, not upon the body of her beloved Son, but into the very heart of the supplicant. Here dear, saintly grandmother voiced her petitions long ago, and you, a tiny toddler, oft came with posies to lay at our Lady's feet. Colmar cathedral has the baptismal font where in ages past pagans were made the children of God, and you and many before you were baptized. The cousin proudly pointed to the handsome new basin, but I turned sadly away.

From the church to the school where you studied, and played, too, I venture to say. Then down the village street to the house once the home of Rev. Fr. H. The man into whose hands it has passed was absent, and we turned toward the "old, old village of the dead." I asked if the massive gates of the court yards were always fastened. The cousin replied at nightfall they were locked. I then queried as to the necessity. She answered: "It has always been done. Why change?" Little wonder that here it is as when you left it years ago. We were followed by a train of children. Ed said they were fascinated by my attire, especially my tan shoes and hose. The cousin wished to "shoo" them off, but we objected. Ed found their comments very amusing. The cousin often halted the procession while she explained to a peeping lady that we were her cousins from America. Often an old woman would hobble out and greet us with a quaint bow and a smile. Here the graves of the dead are well kept, many profusely decorated with flowers made of colored beads. Fluttering white streamers and pure white wreaths mark the graves of virgins. The tomb of the parish priest, who died a few years ago, is the pride of the village. Returning toward the inn I asked if the cousin could show me the wardrobe so elaborately carved by my grandfather for his young bride, and sold when they left for America to a former suitor of "la belle Marie?" How rapturously I was embraced, truly was I a child of the family to know that tale. We were cordially greeted by the grandson of the purchaser, and, after a few moments conversation, were led to the best upstairs chamber, and there I saw it. I ran my hands over the two fishes bearing the ring, admired the bunches of grapes and the delicately carved flowers, opened the doors, pulled wide the drawers, sought the hidden places, guided ever by fond remembrance of the description given by grandfather. Dear, some day I must return, buy the old home and the scattered furniture, restore it as it was in the days of yore.

In the postoffice we found cards giving good views of your home, the church and school, so we have this day mailed to you and our cousins in Oklahoma quite a number. As we were preparing to leave, an old gentleman entered seeking the Americans. Having heard or our presence, he came to ask us to his home, as his wife was dear grandmother's first cousin. Ed thanked him, and expressed our regret that we were even then leaving. We were requested then to please go with him if only for a moment, and meet his aged wife. At a massive gate stood a sweet faced lady, looking with eager, faded eyes at our approach. Oh, I ran and clasped her in my arms with a flood of tears, for truly it was the face and figure of grandmother. When Ed explained to her my agitation, she smiled so sweetly, and comforted me with the gentle caress I knew so well in other days. We lingered until the lengthening shadows and the voices of the men returning from the fields warned us the day was at an end. We left them there in the old world street, with the soft rays of the setting sun falling like a benediction upon their uplifted, eager faces, passing from their lives as we came, quickly and silently.

Madam H. is so charming; I would like to know her far more intimately. The professor had not returned. She assured us that immediately following his arrival they would seek us. She most hospitably urged us to remain with her to dinner, yet, as we had kept her so very late, and to prepare for strangers requires time we deemed it best to courteously refuse, and thus enable her to spend the evening with us free from her care.

We enjoyed an excellent dinner. It was served and cooked to perfection. The hotel surely boasts a fine chef. I have developed an appetite and expect to grow fat and jolly.

Prof. H. is so much like his brother, the priest, that I often said, "Father," and jumped affrightedly at his startling "Bah," much to his amusement. We were piloted through ancient streets and told many quaint tales. One old, old house near to the cathedral caught my fancy, and in the morning I shall go there, and, in the little shop beneath, purchase a spoon, with a picture of it engraved in the bowl. A brilliantly illuminated garden, with merry-go-round, etc., is evidently the city play ground. We entered, and at a little table drank beer and watched the fun-makers. By the way, I enjoyed that glass of Munich. First beer I ever tasted that I considered palatable. Ed says I am cultivating a taste for strong drinks. We lingered in pleasant converse until the hour was late, so loth were we to part, and here I am, burning the after-midnight oil, pouring it out to you, my dearest and best. Shall I say goodnight?

July 16, eleven a.m.--Dear, just a few lines. We leave in thirty minutes once more to be "cookies." I have lived years in the past twenty-four hours. I went out alone this morning, to purchase the spoon, saw a funeral procession, a sale of oxen, a wedding procession, and managed to lose my way. Prof. H. and his wife came this morning to bid us farewell. I wasn't there, so missed the Professor. Madame came to seek me and how pleased I was to see her face among all the strange ones. I tried to tell her of my dilemma, and succeeded excellently, as she gave to Ed a graphic description of my woes. Before taking final leave she presented us with a dear picture of the cathedral, as "a souvenir of your visit to Colmar." We parted with mutual regret, I promising to learn French, she to master English. Thus, when next we meet, Ed's occupation will be gone.

Mother, darling, let us close the book, and bid Colmar and dear, beloved Heiligkreuz goodbye.

Lovingly,

C.