Fairmont High School - Maple Leaves Yearbook (Fairmont, WV)

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NM65? .11 nik FOREWORD IGH SCHOOL, meet the Fletchett company, greatest film-producers in our fair town. Our name is a contraction of Brackett and Fletcherg our ofiice is-nowhere in particular. At the present time, business is gradually sailing-we mean failing. The only mail we ever get is the gas bill, the only company, the postman who brings it. But we here present the efforts of the year, gleaned from a welcoming boom at the time of our organization, and finished as scenarios in the moments when we weren't loafing. Traumerei O the cool and restful beauty of the evening love-scenes in the monastery garden! How fair is the heroine! How manly the hero! You can't miss this, for it is one of the scenic successes of the year. The scenario, by Gertrude Smith, was filmed in Southern France, and, as we've run out of adjectives, we'd better stop. Camera shoot! TRAUMEREI A Love Story of France HR first exquisite, poigantly sweet cadences of Traumerei filled the silence of the night, a silence that was almost tangible in its cool, velvety softness. Now the silver rippling of the harp was joined by the ethereal strains of a violin, with its wealth of expression, and it delicately etched the melody so that it stood out as a silhouette, with vivid points of iridescent light, as delicate, nevertheless, as a hoar-frost pattern on a window pane, and with its same vagrant fancies. In the garden stood a girl, dressed in shimmering white. She became more distinct as a slim crescent moon sent a single shaft of light through the thick lindens. Finally she' was as a white diamond, many-faceted, pressing its loveli- ness against soft folds of blue--black velvet. From the outside of the swath of moonlight came a man's voice, low, vibrantly pleading, and with a note of wistful tenderness. It was a young voice, neverthe- less, filled with youth's hasty fervor. 'Vonne dearest, say you'll go with me-please say you'll go! We'll take the Hirondelle and sail-sail yonder into the dawn,-Yvonne! Yvonne stirred, and lifted one dainty shoulder. The effect was as startling as if a piece of sculptured marble had moved. As the man's voice ceased, the violin again came into prominence from the melodious though unconscious accompaniment it had been playing to the lover's impassioned appeal. It wound its serene, almost melancholy way in and out around the bell-clear intonations of the harp, like fairy gossamer threads around a half blown rose. I can't, Armand, murmured Yvonne, although I love you more than any- one else in the outside world, or here in the convent, yet I have given long years of my life in faithful service that I might take the nun's veil-and now-how could I go with you when I am ready to take the veil? The black veil that means finality! She turned and picked up a light wrap from the hewn stone trellis. Again Armand spoke, but his voice held a tone of resignation. Well, then, my dearly beloved, I must go. I have yet three days to stay on land, then the faithful Hirondelle will take me out into unchartered seas. Three days! and then farewell, perhaps forever! But before the farewell, in three days are three more sweet hours spent with you in this garden of memories. He held her in his arms for a brief moment, and was gone, over the low wall with Page One Hundred Twelve

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BAADL LEAVE a single graceful bound. Yvonne took one step forward, with outflung arms, and then, as the violiniplayed the last low, thrilling. note of Traumerei, she turned and fled into the chapel, where the dawn found her, a rosary twined in her fingers, her face uplifted and serene. Night fell on the convent garden again, tranquil and moonlit. Again the violin and the harp blended in sweet accord, to make Traumerei a radiant, dancing spirit. Again Yvonne met Armand, this time under a trellis of sweetheart roses, and in just an hour, by the beat of their hearts, he was gone. The second night the moon was almost full. Tiny wisps of cloud were shadowed in swift racing succession over the stately stone chapel and the fragrant garden. Their tryst was short, but Armand's step was buoyant, and l1is head held high as he walked away from the convent garden. The next day Yvonne was preoccupied as she worked in and out around the convent. As she weeded each bed of bright pansies or delicate narcissus, she caressed their cool stems as if she were forming an impression of them which was to last a long time. She went about her work with round, grave eyes, as if to remember every detail of the place she had called home the greater part of her life. At morning prayers her eyes wandered around the familiar room, the altar with its candles and shrines, the vaulted ceiling with its rafters, and the mosaics in the tile floors. There was the star pattern she had reproduced in embroidery on a white veil. She turned to an eastern window. The sunlight was streaming through its stained glass in a tender primrose yellow, and in the blue just like my princess morning glory she reflected soberly. But now a smile overcame the sober look in her eyes, and broke out in dimples at the corners of her lovely mouth. The rest of the day passed like a dream, and at Twilight, Sister Yvonne went to the mother Superior, and in her quaint way, bade her good-by. Mother Superior, supposing that she was going for a walk in the garden, said good-by in a matter- of-fact voice. Yvonne gave her a look of finality, and turning went into the garden. Again, just as Yvonne met Armand, the violin and harp began Traumerei, but this time it was more delicately played, and of more gossamer-like quality than ever before. All through the sweet June night they talked and sighed, as is the way with young lovers, and when the stars paled, Yvonne looked around her with clear, sweet eyes. Then, hand in hand, they made their way down to the sandy beach and to the Hirondelle, the graceful little yacht, painted the color of a pink sea shell, with sails like the golden clouds and blue sky of sunrise. And, as Aurora appeared, triumphant over night, and flung her glorious banners in the blue, blue sky, to be reflected in the blue, blue sea, the Hirondelle sailed gracefully into the portals of the dawn. GERTRUDE E. SMITH, '24, THOSE LITERARY BLUES The writing of this scenario was a partnership affair, and it is a melodrama well worth your while. Watch the paper for notice of its arrival. Admission: 25c for children, 450 for grown-ups. No chronic complainers allowed. REEL I Geometry? Problem-If Pearl, Valda, and Alma are an eternal triangle, prove that Misses Scott and Boyd are parallel lions. Problem-What is the locus of all points equidistant from a geometric under- standing? Answer-A circle. They never get anywhere. L -LL.-A.g.-f ffl ' . . Ig ,Z p Page One Hundred Thirteen