Atlanta Georgian. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, 1913-06-29
Actress Makes Discovery While
Seeking Local Color to Aid Her
to Take Chief Part in Dramati-
zation Of LongfeIIow Poem.

line" the dramatizdtion of Longtel-
lo'o's poem iohich is to be staged IN
this city IN the fan.
From France she ,0iH 90, in july,
to Nova Scotia to continue her OBJ
8erUdtiOns.
She torites in an interesting and
original tcdp of her search for a de-
scenddnt Of the old Acadians.
FALAISE. NORMANDY, June 2s.
After several weeks Of surfeiting
myself with the theater of Paris and
Berlin, set out for Normandy, from
| whence the Acadians came and where,
! doubtless, the ancestors Of the glori-
Gus wanderers had STEPPED themselves
| In the religion ana faith immortaliz-
| ed by Longfellow-for l sought for
| communion with Evangeline
| admit l had a faint hope that
somewhere / might find a descend
/ ant of returned ACadian. with tale
or relic of Acadisn days.
After consulting Baedecker. I de-
cided to go to Gaen, only four hours
| from Paris.
! L landed in Caen and called upon
1 the British Consul, there being no
American representative in the town.
| He was located r., a little side street.
| Conspicuous on his side door was a
sign reaCing, "OGice hours from to
g. 1t was but 1:45, but l had the
temerity to ring.
Points PointedIy To Sign.
was greeted by sort of faded
red edition Of Lawrence D'Orsay, car
rying a red cotton print napkin and
q red CLEAN in his eye, which inform
! ed me that I had disturbed the states
man at his lunch. With the unoccu-
pied index finger he pointed at the
office hour sign.
Il saw it," l replied, "and I apol-
ogize; but / am rather in a hurry,
and "Oh, you're an American" he
| interrupted with mingled tone of dis
covery and accusation
Yes" / replied
SWELL, I cannot talk to you now"
accompanied by an embracing Of the
| long red mustache with the long red
napkin.
81 am sure you can tell me what l
want to know" I persisted. DO you
| know anything Of the Acadians ?"
"Of what?" he rejoined
You have read 'Evangeline? I
volunteered.
Cannot say ever heard of it,"
| ne replied.
IT'S a rather well known poem"
ventured, written by a Henry w.
Longfellow"
Gives a o'orsay Laugh.
r"Ha! Hal Hal" he guffawed in
DOrsay's most approved cultural,
I've far too much to do to bother
my head with that sort of rot. Really,
you know, l don't think I'm the per-
son you're seeking at ALL"
l looked at him, as he again tried
to suspend himself on the mustache,
had one good laugh and agreed. Il
guess, possibly, you're not"
Twenty miles from Caen is Bayou.
a Norman village, where the old Nor
man spirit and surroundings have been
practically untouched by time. At
o'clock in q mid week afternoon the
villagers, neatly dressed, were turn
ing out of their homes at every side
and all filing TO church, fine old CATH
edral built in the eleventh century.
never witr essed so unanimous a re-
ply 10 the call Of church bell.
There. indeed, was the spirit of
EvangeliEe, as LOngfelloW breathed IL
into the life in Acadia There were
the people who looked only to their
priest for guidance and stayed their
hands at his command when their all
was taken from them. / stood near
the cathedral as these pious people
entered and / know from the faces
some spiritual, others deeply reposefuB
that religion was something more
than a form.
Found No Aeadans
I sought for a trace of a descend
ant of a returned Aoadian, but my
search was in vain, except that
found the clew which later led to an
interesting meeting in this place.
Finally ! gave up Caen for this
place, and on the oldest street (the
Rue Val d'Ante) l found an Acadian
descendant. She is ninety -four and
her name is Arlette La Croix-I
named, as were so many Norman
girls, after the fair Arlette, the tan
ners daughter who fascinated Rob
ert the Devil, became his wife, and
later the mother of William the Con-
queror.
This old, sunny faced, toothless
woman lives all alone in one of the
tiny stone ruins that line this most
picturesque old street.
Her husband and children died
years ago, and. so far as that part
of Normandy is concerned, she is
the last of the Acadians Her great
grandfather, Pierre Archambault
she told me was driven from Grand
Pre- and landed in Louisiana
After long suffering he gathered
enough money to return with his chill
dren to Falaisc. His eldest boy, her
grandfather, had frequently related TO
her tales of wild America and the In
dams.
Never Heard LongfelIow Legend.
She had never heard of the legend
of Evangeline and, of course, had
never read the poem. l gave her a
copy. II was bound in red, and I am
sure the cover delighted her. As best
I could l told her some of the story.
She was entranced and assured me
that she would find some one who
knew English to translate it,
There was alightful freshness
about this old = oman. She was
wrinkled, weather beaten and grow
ing feeble, but her eyes twinkled and
she laughed with the spontaneity of
a child.
In her tiny room was very old
Bible. a -thumbed missile, and
on the wall a rude crucifix. They
seemed her only companions, yet this
lovable old soul had found that magic
something" in these mute compan-
ions which make the old unquestion-