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Hotel Des Indes La Haye July 4th, 1902. My dear Colonel:- Your long and interesting letter of June 23, came to hand an hour ago, and as Mr. Whistler is now sleeping I hasten to answer. This is our thirteenth day since leaving London and here at this quiet and sane old Dutch center where so many of those early men of accomplishment in Mr. Whistler's ideals, pitched their camps, dreamed their dreams and laid aside their tubes and brushes, it seems fitting, in a way, that he who followed, should in his roving, pause, and understanding, listen to the call of the Supreme Painter who is said to have made the universe so beautiful. It is, in a way, so sad and still so beautiful. In the still nights, the pale dawns and lingering evenings, to sit at his bedside near the large window overlooking the Plein, and watch and listen as he whispers of what to him is the truth, life and peace. No bitterness, no remorse, no revenge against the hundreds who for thirty years, waged war against the young knight, he who has so successfully borne his lance against them all - He bears no ill will, he wants no praise, no crown! Enough for him the mysterious spirit sounded by the mellow tones of the distant bells, the sparrow on the nearby branch, the warm mottled lily in the vase, the sympathetic touch of a friend's hand. There is no sick room fever, no confusion of cross roads or finger posts -- simply a gently moving soundless pageant of unwasted life wending leagues of smiling repose -- and there is no frontier. He has given his commands and has had written his messages, and they, in extreme simplicity, to the very, very few for whom they are intended will be understood. The final hour seems nigh but it may not, in its infinite sweetness, hasten its triumph. When it comes I will cable you. Spain and Velasquez seem far away -- "Why drag in Valasquez", seems prophetic!! With all good wishes and renewed appreciation of your goodness. Sincerely Freer Long hand.
