Patriarchal Picnics

by FRANCES H. ELIOT

AS WE get into the eighties, how many times we say “I remember” — an all-engrossing occupation. HOW vividly the past stands out in every detail and what a halo surrounds it all. Happy memories are the delight of the aged. One has to impart these remembrances to the second and third generation with caution and a sharp eye to see when the expression on the listener’s face becomes one of faint tolerance, and stop. But there are incidents and occasions that are now so obsolete they should be recorded, and among these are the picnics my family enjoyed.

Off the coast of Maine lies a beautiful island discovered by Samuel de Champlain in 1604 and by President Eliot of Harvard in 1870. Champlain gave it the name “L’Isle des Monts Déserts"; we called it “God’s Country.” Here, in one of the numerous harbors, called Northeast Harbor, Mr. Eliot built the first summer house and made it his summer home for more than fifty years. His hospitality knew no bounds and there soon gathered a band of college presidents and professors whose long vacations made it possible for them to spend the three months’ holidays on this almost inaccessible island. Harvard, Yale, Cornell, California, and Johns Hopkins were all represented and there grew a saying: ou have to have money but no brains

in Bar Harbor, brains but no money in Northeast Harbor, while in Southwest Harbor you do not have to have either.”

As I remember the long summer days of my youth and middle age, when it was still the fashion to have all one’s children enjoying the long vacation with their parents, I recall the picnics we used to have when three generations drove, climbed, sailed, and sang together. President Eliot was the prime mover, the organizer, the enthusiast.

A lovely, sunshiny morning would see him tiptoeing on our piazza before breakfast, saying, “How about an excursion?” Then out of his pocket would come a sheet of paper on which was written just who should drive, who should sail, who should walk, and the chosen picnic spot. It did not occur to any of us that we might have preferences. Anyway, we never dreamed of expressing them.

At the appointed hour, the cavalcade started, climbing aboard carriages or boats, or trudging by foot, laden with wraps, a large tin can holding fresh water, and baskets of such Spartan food as cold baked beans, cold fish, cold sandwiches — for the thermos bottle had not yet been invented. No alcohol, no cigarettes, no matches even, for all fires were taboo. The grandparents often had distinguished guests visiting them and they came along too, of course. (I doubt if they had any choice.) Also, sometimes, came the cook and maids, a very democratic party, ranging from Lord Bryce, a quite frequent visitor, to Julia, the cook; and in age, from seventy to four.

Many a mountain picnic was ours, driving to the foot of one of these and then plodding up the steep hills, the boys of the party bearing the burden of baskets, cans, and wraps. If Ambassador Bryce happened to be one of the party, he was soon surrounded by the young people, for a more charming raconteur never lived. His knowledge of botany, birds, geology, geography, had no limits and he knew how to impart it. Sometimes it would be Professor Palmer or Dr. Walcott or Professor Ware (known to the children as Billy-Bobby) or Professor Dunbar, the only person I ever knew who called President Eliot “Charlie.”I remember also the Reverend Lyman Abbott, tall, angular, and with a long, flowing beard, and Edward Everett Hale, the great preacher and author of “The Man Without a Country,” with his leonine head and voice to match. There were giants in those days.

Some of Mrs. Eliot’s women guests might be along too: Mrs. William James who conversed rather than talked, or Miss Hoppin, one of Radcliff’e’s most popular dormitory heads, who was once introduced to a visiting Englishman as “the mistress of Bertram Hall.” He was surprised by such Gallic frankness of speech in staid old Cambridge!

Our sailing picnics to the many beautiful islands were full of song led by Mrs. Eliot’s and my husband’s beautiful voices. Everyone sang — ballads, sea songs, and the topical songs of that time. By President Eliot’s wish, “Throe cheers for Harvard and down with Yale,”was changed to “. . . and one for Yale"!

There were rules and regulations that had to be observed, and woe to the boy or girl who tried to pass an elder on a narrow mountain trail. I can see the line of marchers, led by an erect figure in a sun helmet, the ladies following, holding up anklelength skirts, wearing shirtwaists with high boned collars, large hats draped in veils, and even gloves. No bobbed bare heads, no shorts, no socks. No indeed! A climb in those early days was one of dogged determination, decorum, and sweat. Once on the mount aintop, the elders would nap, the young people would pick blueberries, and everyone enjoyed the beauty all around, plus a satisfactory sense of accomplishment.

Once, I remember, when picnicking on Flying Mountain, a small hill with open pastures down to the sea, the elders staged a race. At seventy, President Eliot sprinted down the hill followed by a bevy of stout, well-corseted ladies holding up their skirts, with veils flying as they dashed to the bottom, while the young, as audience, egged them on with cheers and shouts of laughter. This, however, was a rare occasion, for being decorous was the order of the day.

President Eliot was a fine horseman and drove a spirited span with skill and elegance. To drive with him through the countryside meant many stops by the way to gather information as to the mode of life — the diet, the crops, the lobsters, the number of children, and the hopes and fears of the farmer and sailor.

To be sure, the cautious and taciturn Yankees were sometimes very chary as to their answers — as expressed by one farmer who, seeing a portrait that was being painted of President Eliot, said, “Just like him — only it cairn’t ask questions” — but they knew he had their interests at heart.

What interests me in retrospect is the pleasure and satisfaction the younger generation got out of it. They would not have considered those excursions complete without their grandparents and parents. Could as much be said for the young and old people of today? Or was it the Golden Age we lived in, with security and the ability to enjoy the simple joys of life? Great beauty for the eyes, often high conversation for the mind, merry songs, and much laughter.

The general public thinks of President Eliot as awesome and unapproachable. His children and grandchildren did not find him so. If a somewhat bumptious youngster of seventeen wished to convert him to socialism (it would be communism today) he would listen with grave attention and tolerance, never with a disapproving attitude, for he had great respect for the human mind. If he saw a child disappointed by some decision of his, he was quick to do anything in his power to atone for it, no matter how trivial it would seem to be. He was a man of action rather than words, and with perhaps a deeper knowledge of the then new science of psychology than he was credited with. I remember on a sailing picnic when heavy squalls hit the boat, full of women and children who began to look panicky, he handed over the tiller to his son and, with the remark “This is a good time to take a nap, disappeared down the hatch to the small cabin below. Gould anything be more reassuring! He was unique in his straight thinking, and upright in figure also. To see him sitting on a rock, erect as a ramrod, eating sandwiches and “conversing,”was a common and refreshing sight.

And so, with gratitude and happiness, “I remember.”