Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1900-07-14

the gate; we found the men in charge
most amiable. but once more we
realized that favor is deceitful and
beauty vain" There is nothing to see
within but booths with cheap trinkets
for sale. One exception, however, is
found in the exact copy of the old
church of Saint Gervaise. Here the
choir of the new church give concerts
from Bach, Beethoven, Wagner, all
most enjoyable. Later we sat by the
Seine slipping lemonade and listening to
the singers of Cologne, warbling in I'M
mistakable German. somewhat incon-
gruous in "Old Paris"
There is no doubt but ''red- letter" days
in ones life abroad depend in large
measure on adaptation and point of view.
The one thing to be remembered for
thereby hangs all enjoyment, is. that
Europe Is not America. This apparently
self-evident geographical fact many tour
lists forget: the women wait for all the
comforts of home. the men mourn for
sweet corporal cigarettes. Sightseeing
under the most favorable circumstances
means often unutterable WEAKNESS of the
flesh, but when mind triumphs over mat
ter what enchanting visions of the past
and present! Our day at Fontainebleau
is so covered with crimson dots and DASH
es, that June 9Th can never be for
gotten. The weather has been made to
mt our needs exactly. for as we and our
umbrellas are one and indivisable the
occasional showers only add to our COM
fort by cooling the air and laying the
the top of the bus which suits our
purse and our study of humanity to per
lection So bright and early we started
forth Tor the chateau and forest of his
toric Fontainebleau. Less than two hours
ride by rail through characteristic French
country. beautiful and fragrant with YER
dure and blossom, brought us to our des-
tination; no need to question whittier
We simply followed numerous animated
Baedekers. tourists like ourselves, tightly
grasping the unmistakable red book. The
tram LEFT us at the castle gate and We
began to realize that we were standing
where St. Louis, centuries ago. wrought
his pious deeds. We passed room after
room. where great kings had Toasted and
BILE meant far more than all else Before
it had sat a mighty conquerOr. and sign
ing his addiction. saw his kingdom van
ish like mirage Here is where the
threw down his pen. explained the guide
as we looked curiously at a deep dent in
the table. Implicitly believing % in the
emperor,s strength of fist. we gfavely
delight of driving for hours through the
most beautiful forest in France, smooth
paths in all directions. trees centuries
upon centuries old. whose arching tops
meet overhead and whose limbs often in
terlace as the fingers of ones hands can
interlock. ''On that spot pointing to
tree covered with faded memorial
wreaths and embems. 'he was taken"
mournfully said our driver. touching the
silver medallion of Napoleon on his
breast. With silent sympathy We looked.
to France. Who has not longed to see
fair BarbisOn. Everything was there as
We had dreamed. the simple homes. the
rose empowered studio where Millet
painted. and surrounding. holding all.
shutting out the noise and turmoil of the
world, serene and still the never-ending
inspiration of poet and painter, the for
est of Fontainebleau.
MRS. HERMANN KOTZSHCMAR