Class of 1903
The secretaries have been requested because of lack of space to give only the high lights of correspondence. To this rule I have always adhered; but of what good is a rule that is not elastic? Tonight I am going to fall upon the mercy of our Alumni Editor and ask him to print the letter from one of our classmates, first because the subject matter is positively refreshing after all the present-day reading subjects, and secondly, because it is from the pen of a classmate who sees the true values of life and is able to express them characteristically.
It will be remembered that in the February issue we reported the sailing of William W. Grant Jr. and Mrs. Grant for Morocco, the Balearic Isles, and Egypt for a winter's vacation, and now I have a mostinteresting letter for you from Billy fromthe Hotel Majestic, Cannes, France.
"Traveling as the spirit moves and noton definite schedide, I am as much surprised at finding myself here as hearingfrom you." It seems that owing to illnessof Mrs. Grant on the boat, they were notable to disembark at Morocco, but kept onto Palma de Mallorca. "This is one of themost beautiful and charming cities in theworld, but unfortunately entirely inadequate to the demands made upon its accommodations this year by tourists. It isfull of English and Americans becausethings are cheap, a villa for $3O per month,an excellent cook for etc. We lastedonly a week. The cooking was good, thefood excellent, the beds terrible, and themosquitoes rapacious in the only localitywhere we were able to get rooms. Theremay be scenery on which people of temperaments sufficiently artistic can live inthe face of personal discomforts, but I amnot one of them." . . . "I am inclined tothink we Americans are too used to ordinary creature comforts to be great travelersin places where they are lacking. My ownexperience is that one has to make up hismind which he prefers, the compensatingadvantages of novel sights, different people, strange modes of life, a certain historic setting, or to be comfortable. If thelatter, then the thing to do is to stay athome, and when traveling always travelin season. Consequently, we were not entirely unprepared for discomfort, but MOSQUITOES WERE DIFFERENT.
"I have always loved the Mediterranean.The Saracen watchtowers on every hillafter leaving Gibraltar; innumerable covesin which lurked the pirate craft of searovers: back further to Roman and Greekand before that to Phoenician galleys. ThePax Romana—400 years of it,—in the midstof territory all Roman in which this seawas only a lake. Every period in recordedhistory has left its mark.
"Barcelona was more attractive than Ihad hoped to find it. It has no remains ofantiquity from which it dates nor hasMarseilles. They are two of the oldest citiesin western Europe, but industrial in character. Unfortunately there seems to besomething fundamental in industry whichis naturally inimical to certain kinds oftradition, while not so obviously but inevitably fatal to beauty. There is not avestige in Marseilles to indicate its agethe oldest town in western Europe. Nordoes anything of a mediaeval sort remain.The Chateau D'lf of Monte Christo fameis the most interesting feature I heard of,and that is some distance off down thecoast. There is today something distinctlysinister in Spain, and to a certain extentin such industrial centers as I have passedthrough. Spain, of course, is agog over itsnew republic and winding itself up in redtape as rapidly as possible—certainly asfar as travelers are concerned. All the citiesseem to be busy dividing up King Alphonso's property. The longer I live the morein agreement with Alexander Pope's linesI find myself:'For forms of government let fools contest,What's best administered is best.'In view of the staggering cost of maladministration of our own bureaucracy, ifother countries would learn anything fromexample they would realize that the timehas passed when the mere name of 'republic' or 'democracy' means anything much.As a matter of fact within my own observation the conduct of French and Spanishpeople is much less regulated than our own.And I have yet to see a really drunken person. Perhaps I am blind.
"I spent one night in Perpignan. Didyou ever read Balzac's Droll Stories? Thenyou remember the 'Beautiful Washerwoman of Perpignan.' You recall that herhusband, a hunchbacked dwarf, suspectedher fidelity because of the uncommon resemblance of their very lovely children tothe young and handsome parish priest. Hehastened home with a poisoned sword andsurprised the couple together. He advancedwith uplifted weapon and was about tostrike, when his wife cried, 'Stay, wretch!Would you slay the father of your children?' He staggered back in astonishment,the sword fell on his toe, blood poison setin and he died a miserable death. 'This,'says Balzac, 'teaches us to avoid jealousy.'. . . Perpignan is still beautitful and romantic. The old clerics on their mules clattering through the narrow winding streets;the washerwoman still washing in the sameplace. And not a great way off, Carcassonne,the southernmost outpost against theMoors for centuries; Avignon of the Babylonian Captivity, and 'La Mule du Pape.'But, as Miss Mowcher remarked, 'How I dorun on.' I'd better stop. I'll drop you aline sometime in March. We are sailingfor Egypt to-morrow.
"W. W. GRANT JR."
A letter from "Eddie" Schlatter of Madison, Wis., has been much appreciated. He informs me that his daughter Dorothy Mary is attending Radcliffe College this year in an endeavor to wrest an M.A. degree from the faculty. Dorothy graduated from the University of Wisconsin several years ago, spent a summer in Europe and entered upon a teaching career. With the stimulus of her dad's M.A. from Harvard in 1904, Dorothy decided to show what she could do; hence her residence in Cambridge this year. Then Bunker Junior is in fact a junior at Wisconsin this year. Eddie says that although he prefers hunting and fishing and travels in a T-Ford, yet he's doing his work right well. Wouldn't we like to see Eddie Schlatter back in Hanover in June? Come on, Eddie, we want you there.
Secretary, 198 Humphrey St., Marblehead, Mass.
