TRANSCRIBED FROM THE PRESCOTT DAILY NEWS DECEMBER 7, 1918 P. 3
A.E.F., France, Oct. 25, 1918.
Darling Mother:
I have just received a nice, lovely long letter from you and I was surely glad to get it, for it had been several days since I had one from you, although I had recently received one from "sis" and two from Opal which I greatly appreciated--but there's none to compare with a letter from mother.
Again, last Sunday, I visited the old Cathedral of which I have before written you. My second visit was even of more interest than my former. Truly, when one walks into this mighty and majestically beautiful old structure and looks about at the wonderful works of art done by the human hand hundreds of years ago, listens to the weird and enchanting tones, so soft, rich and mellow, of the ancient organ, sees the soft light of many candles placed about the altar and over the building, hears the eloquent voice of the old priest attired in velvet and gold, sees before him the French people sitting so peacefully and reverentially listening perhaps to an ovation to their sons, fathers, husbands or friends who have given their lives that France may not be crushed--to feel and see these things is, indeed, to feel the presence of God. I stood for a long time as one in a trance--enchanted, bewildered by the splendor, the magnanimity of it all. Then after what seemed a very long time I moved over to a large niche or receptacle in the wall, and there again I stood for I do not know how long magnetically held by what was before my eyes. I shall never forget that wonderful piece of sculpture. It was, in life-size, the reproduction in marble of Christ just after He was taken from the cross. He was held in the arms of the Virgin Mary and the look of agony and pain, sa plainly, so realistically chisseled on that face that held Him was marvelous almost beyond belief. Then there were the marks the nails had left on the hands and feet of Christ and the blood coming from the wounds, and there was the tell-tale place in His right breast where the javelin of a persecutor had left its mark and the blood was pouring also from that wound. The statues were painted and given every appearance of the human figure and as one stands there he almost expects to hear a sob from the Virgin Mary. I have never been so impressed with anything in my life. Immediately subsequent to a study of this piece of art I passed on down the building and at the further end my attention was drawn by the presence of some women who were apparently in prayer before some kind of a shrine. There were flickering candles on each side of another receptacle in the wall where were enclosed some rich tapestries and a large crucifix. The women would come in, halt before these burning candles and remain standing there for some time. It was evident that they were in prayer for after a brief period they would turn, always with a mournful look and pass on out the exit. The pathetic part of this was that nearly everyone of the women were in heavy mourning. Some were very young who no doubt were mourning the loss of their brothers or husbands who gave their lives for France. Others were very old--gray haired women bowed with years of toil--who came here to this old cathedral that they might breathe a prayer for their sons and grand-sons who had made the great sacrifice.
NOTES: This letter was written by Joe Harrell from France. He was serving with
Headquarters, 525th Engineers.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD
A.E.F., France, Oct. 25, 1918.
Darling Mother:
I have just received a nice, lovely long letter from you and I was surely glad to get it, for it had been several days since I had one from you, although I had recently received one from "sis" and two from Opal which I greatly appreciated--but there's none to compare with a letter from mother.
Again, last Sunday, I visited the old Cathedral of which I have before written you. My second visit was even of more interest than my former. Truly, when one walks into this mighty and majestically beautiful old structure and looks about at the wonderful works of art done by the human hand hundreds of years ago, listens to the weird and enchanting tones, so soft, rich and mellow, of the ancient organ, sees the soft light of many candles placed about the altar and over the building, hears the eloquent voice of the old priest attired in velvet and gold, sees before him the French people sitting so peacefully and reverentially listening perhaps to an ovation to their sons, fathers, husbands or friends who have given their lives that France may not be crushed--to feel and see these things is, indeed, to feel the presence of God. I stood for a long time as one in a trance--enchanted, bewildered by the splendor, the magnanimity of it all. Then after what seemed a very long time I moved over to a large niche or receptacle in the wall, and there again I stood for I do not know how long magnetically held by what was before my eyes. I shall never forget that wonderful piece of sculpture. It was, in life-size, the reproduction in marble of Christ just after He was taken from the cross. He was held in the arms of the Virgin Mary and the look of agony and pain, sa plainly, so realistically chisseled on that face that held Him was marvelous almost beyond belief. Then there were the marks the nails had left on the hands and feet of Christ and the blood coming from the wounds, and there was the tell-tale place in His right breast where the javelin of a persecutor had left its mark and the blood was pouring also from that wound. The statues were painted and given every appearance of the human figure and as one stands there he almost expects to hear a sob from the Virgin Mary. I have never been so impressed with anything in my life. Immediately subsequent to a study of this piece of art I passed on down the building and at the further end my attention was drawn by the presence of some women who were apparently in prayer before some kind of a shrine. There were flickering candles on each side of another receptacle in the wall where were enclosed some rich tapestries and a large crucifix. The women would come in, halt before these burning candles and remain standing there for some time. It was evident that they were in prayer for after a brief period they would turn, always with a mournful look and pass on out the exit. The pathetic part of this was that nearly everyone of the women were in heavy mourning. Some were very young who no doubt were mourning the loss of their brothers or husbands who gave their lives for France. Others were very old--gray haired women bowed with years of toil--who came here to this old cathedral that they might breathe a prayer for their sons and grand-sons who had made the great sacrifice.
NOTES: This letter was written by Joe Harrell from France. He was serving with
Headquarters, 525th Engineers.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD