College of the Sisters of Bethany - Ivy Leaf Yearbook (Topeka, KS)

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lIIIIlllllllllIllIIIIIII!IllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIlllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIHIIIT T H E IVY L E AF llIllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllllIIIIHIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIF Wild Geese-Martha Ostenso Martha Ostenso was born in the mountains near Bergen, Norway, in 1900, descended of an immemorial line of tillers of the soil. - When she was three years old her parents brought her to America and she lived in childhood successively in seven small towns of Minnesota and North Dakota, roving often through the countryside, believing in fairies, and looking for them in the fields and woods, and learning the strange beau- ties of the English Language which to her were words which thrilled her with their music. Later as a young girl, she moved to Winnipeg, where she attended school and the university, spending the summer teaching in the farm countries Where she con- ceived the story of Wild Geese. Martha Ostenso received as prize money 313,500 for Wild Geese. It is a tale of a Scandinavian farming community in the Northwest. Caleb Gare a malevolent ,figure of tyranny and greed dominates the story. He is able to intimidate his own household by means of a damaging secret continually held over his wife as a threat. Towards his daughter Judith, who alone refuses submission to him, his keenest cruelty is directed. Caleb cannot be characterized in the terms of human virtue or vice. He is a spirtual counterpart of the land, as harsh, as de- manding as the very soil from which he drew his existence. As Caleb read this pass- age from the bible The fool foldeth his hands together, and eateth his own flesh, his wife, Amelia, thought that this was what he was doing. What she was helping him do. Eating his own flesh here on this land. Q Amelia, Caleb's wife, is the mother of an architect farming in the neighborhood for his health. The author has twisted this son into a mechanical device used by Caleb to establish himself as undisputed master of the Gare household. Amelia was unde- niably a strong woman, with her inviolable reserve and quiet graciousness. She pro- tects this son of the man she loved even when it tortures herself. Toward the end of the book her strength is shown vividly. , Ellen, Caleb's older daughte1', is very prim, even to the point of agony. She has very much pride, and in every way stood up for her father. She tried to make her- self believe that everything he did was right. Judith, Caleb's second daughter, is vivid and terrible, and seemed the embryonic ecstacy of all life. She carries murder in her heart for her father, and once atleast attempts to practice it. She was built like the soil, upon which she was raised, solid and never bending. She held great contempt for Ellen because of her endurance. Martin was the stumbling dreamer forever silent in his dreams. Like Ellen he dared not revolt against his father mostly because of what his mother would have to bear. He and Ellen were like pea pods that had ripened to brittleness, but could not burst open. Charlie, the youngest son and favorite child of Caleb, was pampered and played against the others by Caleb. We would say he was the most natural one of the children. Lind Archer, a young school teacher, who lives in the Gare household, adds the only touch of brightness and tenderness to the grim story. She was beautiful, sweet and attractive and tried to make the life in the Gare household better for all espe- cially Judith, whom she knew and understood. She lends the touch of romance which is so needed in the novel. Mark Jordan, an architect, who comes to Aeland to work on the farm for his health, is the illegitimate son of Amelia. This is the secret which Caleb Gare holds over Amelia. But Amelia, strong to the end, manages to keep Caleb from telling him, until Caleb dies. Mark Jordan, quite lonely, centers his attraction upon the only lovely object in that part of the country, Miss Archer. Martha 0stenso's style is at times curiously awkward, but for the most part it fits the harshness of her story tempered with touches of beauty over which she does not linger too long. Wild Geese has more plot than most recent farm novels. Martha Ostenso has made a good beginning aside from her great good fortune in winning a large prize, over some eleven hundred competitors. The novel is not so remarkable as to what it accomplishes. It gives something of the impression of an unfinished statue: there is much that is unique and imposing about it, but also much that is inchoate and unformed. The Wild Geese lend the required air of mystic yearning to the impressionable heroine, who interprets the honking as something-I know not what, a magnificent seeking through solitude, an endless quest. The author always endeavors to reach the emotions by the imaginative reproduc- tion of actual experience. Painful as most of the scenes are, they distil the human- ness which is essential to tragedy. The noval bears strong traces of Scandinavian temperament and art. It is at once graciously naive and imaginatively tragic, the language is sensitive and weird, the scenes are realistic but aim at an impression of beauty or haunting terror. CHRISTINE THOMSON. Page Thirty-five IVIIIIIIIIIlIIIIIIllllIIIIIIIHIHIIHIIIIlllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIlIIIHIIlllllllllllllllllllllll 1 9 2 7 TIIIIIIIIIHIIHIIIIIIIIIlllllIlllllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIllIIIIIllIll!IllIIIIIIHIIIIIllllllllllllllllllll

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IHHUIHIIIIllllHIIHIHIIIHIIIIIIIIHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIHMII! T H E 1 v Y L E A P IIHHIH1IlllllllllllllIIIIIIIlllllllllllIIIIIllllIIIIIIlllllllllllllllllll Genesis of Genius But, indeed, we prefer books to pounds, and we love manuscripts better than florinsg and we prefer small pamphlets to war horses.-D'Israe1i. . HERR DEACON W. WURST Herr Deacon Wurst arrived at Bethany the latter part of January. His popularity was instantaneous among the girls who were then deeply engrossed in those necessary evils exams. Life in a girls' boarding school is somewhat devoid of the masculine gender and naturally the advent of a gentleman who had come to reside on the very campus itself was a novelty not to be sniffed at. For two days the girls watched eagerly the front door of the Deacon's cottage, situated just north of the Bethany drive, but all in vain. However, one day their patient vigil was rewarded. Chaplain Poindexter, parking his car in front of the cottage, went in and a few minutes later he reappeared with the Deacon. The girls decided that they must be friends and intimate ones at that, for every day thereafter the two bachelors were seen strolling about together. Herr Deacon was not hard to become acquainted with and soon proved himself a perfect gentleman. He has a very good tenor voice which can be heard almost any- time during the day, for he spends much of his time out of doors, the reason being that he does not sleep very well, and the doctor prescribed plenty of fresh air. There is one thing for which we must criticize him. We haven't heard Chaplain Poindexter say anything about it, but we're almost sure he disapproves. Whenever he is out for a walk, no matter whom he is with, if they meet one of the feminine gender he always deserts his companion and makes his way hastily to the side of the fair one. The Bethany climate seems to agree with him because he is growing stouter day by day. His voice is improving so remarkably that we have hopes of it becoming a deep bass. He is not only popular with the girls but with Topeka gentlemen as well, and sad but true we cannot approve of some of his Visitors, for they lack refinement and good taste. We can only hope that their influence will not prove deteriorating. If you are interested enough in the Deacon to come to see him, I'll tell you how to find his bachelor quarters. Just drive in at the gate and keep on the Bethany Drive, all the time looking for a bark. Now, not the kind that grows on trees, or that which sails the seas for Bethany has another kind of bark and that issues from the throat of Deacon W. Wurst for he, you see, is a German Police dog. . HAZEL LEWIS. A Phantom House We did not know the house was there. Perhaps if we had waited until the next full moon we could have found it. That night as we stood in the doorway and gazed about the tiny room, we had the impression that we were being allowed a glimpse into the past. Though the room was completely devoid of furniture, it may be that the petrified fragments of a stump near the large open fireplace had once served as a chair. The floor was carpeted here and there with patches of grass and wild flowers. A dainty moon flower raised its delicate face to the shaft of bright moonlight coming from the small window, but the beam as though aware that there was nothing else of importance in the cabin had concentrated its rays on one of the large logs of the fireplace. There cut deep into the pine wood were carved two hearts interlaced and bearing the initials N. L. and R. B. Below was cut the date 1857. I think it was from these two hearts that the cabin had drawn its courage to with- stand the devastations of time. MARGARET SUTTON. llHHllllIllllIlllllllIIIIIIlllllllllllllIllllIIIIllllIIlllllllllllllllIII!HIIlilllilllllllllllillllll 1 9 2 7 AHIHillIllIHHllllllIIIIIIIIIIllllIIIIVIlllllllVIIIIIIIIHIIHIIllllIIII1IIIliIilllllllllllllllllllli l

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IIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIHIIIHIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIHIIHIIIIIII T H E I V Y L E A F IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIHIIIIIHHIllH!!IllIIIIlIIlIIlH'Illlllllllllll Who's Who NAME OCCUPATION DESTINY Pauline Robinette Experimenting Snake chai-mer Mary Ann Fox Talking Book agent Dena Libbin Boys Heart wrecker Betty Harvey Reducing Ballet dancer Edna Hawkes Contemplating marriage Old maid Anna Walsh Poet Nurse Helen Blake Doing nothing Movie idol Mervene Ricklefs Wandering Comedienne Polly Speelman Eating Apple sauce dealer Frances Warner Quarreling Competitor in contests Hazel Lewis Swimming Life saver Virginia Cooper Flirting Clown Dora Stephen Writing to? Domestic life Dorothy Hanson Winking Prize fighter Ella Barber Toe Dancing Missionary Verne Wagner Vampire Nursing feeble minded Sarah Ewart Just being happy Mrs. ? ? 7 ? Mary Noble Oliphint Unknown Painter Christine Thomson Chaufferring Stage director Margaret Sutton Sleeping Mender of soles Good Night! Pleasant Dreams! Goodnight, and the old clock struck ten-thirty. Goodnight, Oh-o-o-o. As I turned over in my bed I wondered if those words, which I couldn't help hear- ing, really meant peace and quiet. I still had enough faith left in human nature to ho e so. Si hin for m bed r omfortabl I ll d th ' d p g g y was ve y c e, pu e up e covers an upon closing my eyes I began to rehearse in my mind the very pleasant things that had hap- pened or were to happen, such as a package from home, which, if I weren't made with alabaster lining would have kept me awake, or of the luncheon I was going to on the week-end. True enough, these much rehearsed luncheons were rarely tasted but that never dimmed the ardor with which I crawled into bed to dream about them. My thoughts grew mixedg soon I couldn't tell whether I was thinking of tennis or luncheonsg finally I dropped off to---l, Me-eow! Me-eow! Vee-ay! Vee-ay! With a start I woke from my land of dreams. I wondered, Is it a cat? Is it a ve ' tabl man? No! Su' l t! Mittens ' l cl' d d 't 'l l'k ge e iey no , our on yd qua iupe , oesn wal 1 e that and, when I was wider awake, I remembered that all the vegetable men I knew peddled their goods too late for lunch and not this long before breakfast. What then could this dreadful noise be? Dear One, the world is waiting for the sunrise. Oh! That sounds more familiar. It was only one of two things, both of these things, by the way, had long hair. As the song, for such I had decided it to be, soared higher and higher, you would have agreed with me on the altitude had you heard it, I realized its meaning to the full. It was no other than our blonde, long-haired, would-be Opera star, practicing madly to gain tone and complete volume. As to the tone I'm not so sure that she gained the summit of her ambitions but as to the volume even the pictures on the wall are able to witness that there was a great sufficiency, a very great sufficiency of that, for they with abandon, danced around on the wall with a rhythm that would have made some of the nymphs I know extremely jealous. A door opened: a loud voice roared out several very emphatic commands, the meow- ing stoppedg a door closed softly. Again I turned over in my bed. This time I was to be more successful for I was only disturbed by the rising bell, which to my mind always rings several hours too early. POLLY SPEELMAN. Page Thirty-six I HIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIHHIIlllIllIINIiillllllllllilllllllIIIIHIIllllHlllllllllllllllllllillli- 19 2 7 llllllllllllllilllllllllllllllilllilllillllllllllllilllllllllHHllIllIIlllllllilllllllillllilllilil.