Molly Brown of Kentucky Page 5

  CHAPTER V.

  LETTERS FROM PARIS AND BERLIN.

  From Miss Julia Kean to Mrs. Edwin Green.

  Paris, and no idea of the date. No fixed address, but the American Club might reach me.

  Molly darling:

  Things are moving so fast that even I can't quite catch on, and you knowI am some mover myself. Jo and I came to Paris as I wrote you we would,but I haven't seen her since. She told me in as polite words as shecould command that she couldn't be bothered with me any more. At leastthat was the trend of her remarks. She has the business before her ofmaking up to look as much like a man as possible and then of being takeninto the aviation school.

  I met an art student from Carlo Rossi's on the street and he toldme Polly was already the proud driver of an ambulance. Lots of theAmerican art students have enlisted or joined the Red Cross. If I likedsick folks or nursing, I think I'd join myself. I feel that I should bedoing something while I wait to hear from Bobby. I hope to see theAmerican Ambassador next week. He is simply floored under with dutiesjust now. I don't want any help from him, but just to find out somethingabout Bobby and Mamma.

  If you could see Paris now! Oh, Molly, our gay, beautiful, eternallyyouthful city has grown suddenly sad and middle-aged. There is no gaietyor frivolity now. Her step has changed from a dance to a march. Herlaughter has turned to weeping, but silent weeping--she makes no outcrybut one knows the tears are there. Her beautiful festive clothes arelaid away and now there is nothing but khaki and mourning. The gallantlittle soldier is to discard his flaming red trousers and blue coat forkhaki. The German finds him too easy a mark.

  I begin to tremble for Paris, but strange to say I have no fear formyself.

  I have seen the Ambassador! He was very grave when I told him aboutBobby. There was some English capital involved in the railroad thatBobby was to build in Turkey, and for that reason there may be somecomplication. He is to communicate with Gerard immediately. In themeantime, he advises me to go home. I told him I had no home, but wouldwait here until I found out something. He asked me if I had plenty ofmoney and I told him yes, indeed, my letter of credit was good foralmost any amount. I had not had to draw on it as I had stocked upbefore I went to G---- to keep house with the Polly Perkinses. TheAmbassador actually laughed at me. Do you know, I can't get any moremoney? What a fool I have been! I have been so taken up with Paris andthe sights and sounds that money has never entered my head. I have quitea little left, though, and I intend to live on next to nothing.

  The Bents have left for America and have given me their key to use theirstudio as I see fit. Mrs. Bent wanted me to go with them, but I can'tgo until we hear from Gerard. Now I am back in the Rue Brea! It seemsstrange to be there again where we had such a glorious winter. Thestudio where Kent and Pierce Kinsella lived all last year is vacant. Idon't know where Pierce is. Gone to war, perhaps!

  I spend the days on the streets, walking up and down, listening to thetalk and watching the regiments as they move away. I ran across some oldfriends yesterday. You remember a wedding party I butted in on at St.Cloud that day I scared all of you so when I took the wrong train fromVersailles and landed at Chartres? Well, I ran plump against the brideon Montparnasse (only she is no longer a bride but had a rosy infantover her shoulder). She came out of a little delicatessen shop and herhusband in war togs followed her, and there I witnessed their parting. Iseem fated to be present at every crisis in their lives. The girl didnot recognize me but the young man did. I had danced with him in too mada whirl for him to forget me. Then came the old father and his wife wholooked like a member of the Commune. They keep the little shop, itseems. I shook hands with them and together we waited for the youngman's regiment to come swinging down the street. With another embraceall around, even me, he caught step with his comrades and was gone. Thebonnemere clasped her daughter-in-law to her grenadier-like bosom andthey mingled their tears, the rosy baby gasping for breath between thetwo. The old father turned to me:

  "This is different from the last time we met, ma'mselle!"

  "Yes, so different!"

  "Come in and have a bite and sup with us. There is still something toeat in Paris besides horse flesh." His wife and daughter-in-law joinedhim in the invitation and so I went in. I enjoyed the meal more thanI can tell you. The grenadier is some cook and although the fare wassimple, it was so well seasoned and appetizing that I ate as I have notdone since I got back to Paris. The truth of the matter is, I am livingso cheap for fear of getting out of money and I am afraid I have beenneglecting my inner man. I can't cook a thing myself, which is certainlytrifling of me, and so have depended on restaurants for sustenance. Idressed the salad (you remember it is my one accomplishment) and it metwith the approval of host and hostess.

  I told them of my trouble and how I felt I must wait until I heardsomething definite of my mother and father, and they were all sympathy.I have promised to come to them if I get into difficulty, and you don'tknow the comfortable feeling I have now that I have some adopted folks.

  I might go to the Marquise d'Ochte, but I know she has all on her handsand mind that she can attend to. I don't need anything but justcompanionship. I am such a gregarious animal that I must have folks.

  I am dying to hear from you and to know if Kent landed his job. Ishe--well, angry with me for staying over? I would not have missedstaying for anything, even if he should be put out. I can't believe heis, though. I had rather hoped for letters when the American mail camein this morning, but the man at the bank was very unfeeling and hadnothing. Nobody seems to be getting any mail. I wonder if they arestopping it for some reason or other. I have a great mind to take thisto some American who is fleeing and have it mailed in New York. I willdo that very thing. Good by, Molly--don't be uneasy about me. You knowmy catlike nature of lighting on my feet.

  Your own, Judy.

  From Mr. Robert Kean to his Daughter Julia.

  Berlin.

  My dear Judy:

  I know you are intensely uneasy about us, but down in your heart youalso know that we never get into scrapes we can't get out of, and wewill get out of this. This letter will probably be postmarked Swedenbut that does not mean I am there. In fact, I am in durance vile herein Berlin. I am allowed to walk around the streets and to pay my ownliving expenses but leave Berlin I cannot. Your mother can't leave,either--not that she would. You know how she thinks that she protects meand so she insists that she will stay. I am allowed to write no lettersand can receive none. I am getting this off to you by a clever device ofyour mother's, which I shall not divulge now for fear it might be seizedand thus get an innocent person in bad with this remarkable Government.

  I am kept here all because I know too much about the geography andtopography of Turkey. Of course I have made careful maps of the proposedrailroad from Constantinople, the one we have been trying to get theconcessions for. Well, they have naturally seized the maps. But before Idreamed of the possibility of this war, for, like all of us fool AngloSaxons, I have been nosing along like a mole, I had a talk with a highPrussian Muckamuck at dinner one evening about this proposed road and Idrew the blame thing on the table cloth, and with bits of bread and saltcellars and what not I explained the whole topography of the country andthe benefit it would be to mankind to have this particular railroadbuilt, financed by my particular company. That was where I "broke my'lasses pitcher." Of course, having surveyed the country and made themaps, at least, having had a finger in the pie from the beginning, I canreproduce those maps from memory, if not very accurately, at least,accurately enough to get the Germans going if that particularinformation should be needed by the Allies.

  Do you know what I see in this? Why, Turkey will be in this war beforeso very long.

  I am hungry for news. I feel that I wil
l go mad if I can't get someinformation besides what is printed in these boot licking newspapersof Berlin. They speak of their soldiers as though they were avengingangels--avenging what? Avenging the insult Belgium offered them fornot lying down and making a road of herself for them to walk over.Avenging France for not opening wide her gates and getting ready theChristmas dinner the Kaiser meant to eat in Paris. I'd like to preparehis Christmas dinner, and surely I would serve a hors-d'oeuvre ofrough-on-rats, an entree of ptomaines, and finish off with a dessertof hanging, which would be too sweet for him. Now just suppose thisletter is seized and they see this above remark--what then? I must notbe allowed to write my opinion of their ruler to my own daughter, butthese Prussians who go to United States and get all they can from ourcountry, feel at perfect liberty to publish newspapers vilifying ourPresident and to burst into print at any moment about our men who arehigh in authority.

  Berlin is wild with enthusiasm and joy over her victories. Every Belgianvillage that is razed to the ground makes them think it is cause for atorch-light procession. I can't understand them. They can hardly be thesame kindly folk we have so often stayed among. They are still kind,kind to each other and kind in a way to us and to all the strangerswithin their gates, but how they can rejoice over the reports of theirvictories I cannot see.

  They one and all believe that they were forced to fight. They sayFrance was marching to Berlin for the President to eat Christmas dinnerhere, and that Belgium had promised they should go straight through hergates unmolested and did not regard the agreement of neutrality. I saynonsense to such statements. At least I think nonsense. I really sayvery little for one who has so much to say. I am bubbling over to talkpolitics with some one. Your poor little mumsy listens to me but shenever jaws back. I want some one to jaw back. I have promised her tokeep off the subject with these Prussians. They are so violent and soon the lookout for treason. There is one thing I am sure of and that isthat no Frenchman would want to eat Christmas dinner or any other kindof dinner here if he could eat it in Paris. I am sick of raw goose andblood pudding and Limburger cheese.

  As I write this tirade, I am wondering, my dear daughter, where you are.Did you go back to America with Kent Brown, who, you wrote me in yourlast letter, was sailing in a week, or are you in Paris? I hope notthere! Since I see the transports of joy these law-abiding, home-lovingcitizens, women and men, can get in over an account of what seems to memere massacre, I tremble to think what the soldiers are capable of inthe lust of bloodshed.

  From the last bulletin, the Germans are certainly coming closer andcloser to Paris. I hope they are lying in their report. They are capableof falsifying anything.

  I am trying to get hold of our Ambassador to get me out of this mess,but he is so busy it is hard to see him. I think he is doing excellentwork and I feel it is best for me to wait and let the Americans who arein more urgent need get first aid. I have enough money to tide us overfor a few weeks with very careful expenditure. Of course I can get nomore, just like all the rest of, the Americans who are stranded here.

  I feel terribly restless for work. I don't know how to loaf, neverdid. I'd go to work here at something, but I feel if I did, it wouldjust mean that these Prussians could then spare one more man fortheir butchery, and I will at least not help them that much. Yourmother and I are on the street a great deal. We walk up and down andgo in and out of shops and sit in the parks. I keep moving as much aspossible, not only because I am so restless but because I like to keepthe stupid spy who is set to watch over me as busy as possible. He hassome weird notion that I do not know he is ever near me. I keep up thefarce and I give him many anxious moments. Yesterday I wrote limericksand nonsense verses on letter paper and made little boats of them andsent them sailing on the lake in the park. If you could have seen thisman's excitement. He called in an accomplice and they fished out theboats and carefully concealing them, they got hold of a third spy totake them to the chief. I wonder what they made of:

  "The Window has Four little Panes: But One have I. The Window Panes are in its Sash,-- I wonder why!"

  or this:

  "I wish that my Room had a Floor-- I don't so much care for a Door, But this walking around Without touching the ground Is getting to be quite a bore!"

  I only wish I could see the translations of these foolish rhymes thatmust have been made before they could decide whether or not I had a bombup my sleeve to put the Kaiser out with. Fancy this in German:

  "The poor benighted Hindoo, He does the best he kindo; He sticks to caste From first to last; For pants he makes his skindo."

  Some of the ships sank and they had to get a boat hook and raise them.My nonsense seems to have had its effect. I saw in this morning's paperthat some of the foreigners held in Berlin have gone crazy. I believethey mean me. I must think up some more foolishness. I feel that themore I occupy this spy who has me in charge, the better it is for theAllies. I try to be neutral but my stomach is rebelling at German food,and who can be neutral with a prejudiced stomach?

  We are trying to cook in our room. You know what a wonder your littlemumsy is at knocking up an omelette and making coffee and what not, andwe also find it is much more economical to eat there all we can. When weare there, we are out of sight of the spy, who, of course, can't helphis job, but neither can I help wanting to kick his broad bean. He issuch a block-head. He reminds me of the Mechanician Man, in our comicpapers: "Brains he has nix." He is evidently doing just exactly what hehas been wound up and set to do. I can't quite see why I should be suchan important person that I should need a whole spy to myself. I can'tget out of Berlin unless I fly out and I see no chance of that.

  * * * * *

  I have had my interview with the Ambassador. He sent for me, and thewonderful thing was that it was because of the ball you had set rollingin Paris. When one Ambassador gets in communication with anotherAmbassador, even when it is about as unimportant a thing as I am, thereis something doing immediately. You must have made a hit, honey, withthe powers in France, they got busy so fast. It seems that the ImperialGovernment is very leary about me. My being an American is the onlything that keeps me out of prison. They are kind of scared to put methere, but they won't let me go. I had to wait an hour even after I gotsent for, and I enjoyed it thoroughly because it was raining hard andblowing like blazes and I knew that my bodyguard was having to take it.Indeed I could see him all the time across the strasse looking anxiouslyat the door where he had seen me disappear. I also had the delight ofreading a two weeks old American newspaper that a very nice young clerkslipped to me. I suppose the American Legation gets its newspaper, waror no.

  Nothing can be done for me as yet. I have been very imprudent in mybehaviour, reprehensible, in fact. The paper boats were most illadvised, especially the one that goes: "My Window has Four littlePanes." That is something to do with maps and a signal, it seems. "TheWindow Panes are in its Sash," is most suggestive of information. Ah,well! They can't do more than just keep us here, and if our money givesout, it will be up to them to feed us. The time may come when I will beglad to get even blood pudding, but I can't think it.

  Your poor little mumsy, in spite of the years she has spent with meroughing it, still has a dainty appetite, and I believe she would assoon eat a live rat, as blood pudding or raw goose. She makes out witheggs and salad and coffee and toast. So far, provisions are plentiful.It is only our small purse that makes us go easy on everything. But ifthe war goes on (which, God willing, it will do, as a short war willmean the Germans are victorious), I can't see how provisions will remainplentiful. What is England doing, anyhow? She must be doing something,but she is doing it very slowly.

  Your being in Paris is a source of much uneasiness to us, but I can'tsay that I blame you. You are too much like me to want to get out ofexcitement. I feel sure you will take care of yourself and now that theFrench are waltzing in at such a rate, I ha
ve no idea that the Germanswill ever reach Paris. After all, this letter is to be taken by a ladywho is at the American Legation and mailed to Mrs. Edwin Green andthrough her sent to you. They could not get it directly to you inFrance, but no doubt it will finally reach you through your friend,Molly. I am trusting her to do it and I know she will do it if any onecan, because she is certainly to be depended on to get her friends outof trouble. In the meantime, the Ambassador here is to communicateformally with the Ambassador in Paris, and he is to let you know thatall is well with your innocent if imprudent parents. Of course, yourmother could go home if she would, but you know her well enough to knowshe won't. In fact, there is some talk of making her go home, and shesays if they start any such thing she is going to swear she can drawany map of Turkey that ever was known to man, and can do it with hereyes shut and her hands tied behind her.

  We both of us wish you were safe in Kentucky with your friends. We spendmany nights talking of you and reproaching ourselves that we have leftyou so much to yourself. I don't see how we could help it in a way, butmaybe I should have given up engineering and taken up preaching or beena tailor or something. Then I might have made a settled habitation forall of us. Your mumsy is writing you a long letter, too, so I must stop.She is quite disappointed not to use her clever scheme for getting theletter to you, and rather resents the lady at the Legation.

  Yours, BOBBY.