Manuscript letter

Archives Number: 1006/004.006.002-006#026

June 26, 1918
Paris
Dearest Family,
Here I am back in Paris for a few days!! It was quite unexpected. But Several very important questions concerning our winter plans at Lacaune had to be decided now, and as Mr. Jaccaci is snowed under with work here he couldn’t come down to us. — So I leave [??] to [??]. I was especially glad to be able to come just at this time, as poor little Lucinda has just had a cable telling of her father’s [p. 2] sudden death. It has been fearfully sad and hard of her being so far away, with only cable communication. She has been so plucky. Think of it, she was sick with bronchitis when the cable came, as the result of overstrain in her nursing work. Now she is back at work, and the intensity of it is really a blessing to occupy her mind.
It has been so lovely to join forces again, and be all four together once more in a new little salon which is even sweeter than the old! We are [??] the as[?]Etoille, in a little [??] on a side street off the Champs Elysses.
[p. 3 marked 2] About 12.10 of a Wednesday [??] having at the ^very^ last moment decided to come home for lunch instead of staying downtown whom should I find descending the steps as I hopped out was but Willard! Neither of us had known that the other was in[sic] a 100 miles of Paris, he had merely stopped by to get a cigarette case I’d left for him with Lucinda, had found everyone out, and 2 seconds later would have been far away. The uncanny miraculousness of it simply collapsed us. We went to the Ritz to lunch ^in his natty[?] little staff car^, and on the way he suggested as only Willard could, [“]Why don’t you come back with me to dinner [p. 4] at the front[?]?” !!! So I jumped out ^Lucinda’s old^ Red Cross uniform, left them a note to say that I was dining at the front, and twenty minutes later we were speeding 50 miles an hour “outside the walls of Paris” Not till you’ve been over like a year in the war country, but not of it, ^[??]^ always miles of [??] (except for raids) between you and it, always the longing underlying everything for do so I think that some time by some miracle — you may catch a glimpse of it, knowing that miracles like that don’t happen [p. 5 marked 3] in modern these days and that one can wait a lifetime for a casual rogue[?] to get even a few kilometres out of Paris — can you imagine the state of my feelings —
Never a paper, never a special permit, never a question — [??] only the will of Captain Fuller and his sublime belief in the artistic living of life.
I can’t tell you where we went. It wasn’t the very front, but the zone immediately behind the front line trenches—We didn’t see the trenches, but we saw [p. 6] the men — back in [repos??] hundreds of thousands of them burned to a crisp, so strong and handsome and fine that you wanted to shout for pure joy and pride — strolling about with long bread rolls under their arms, lounging on [haystacks?], wrestling, having[?] a pass, watering horses, washing clothes ^examining a last [??] bomb digest[?]^ a whole army of them in one town, [word scratched out] the streets seemed to be[?] running khaki.
And I also till a few days before, hadn’t seen an American uniform for 3 months —!
We drew up finally at headquarters, I was ushered into one of the officer’s rooms boots were hastily kicked under beds [p.7 marked 4] And while Willard was attending to telephone calls — ‘This is Capt. Fuller speaking”, — was introduced to Lt. Chandler “who will show you round a bit” Dramatic climax again[?] [word or numbers scratched out] — Theophilus Parsons Chandler of loathed memory, not seen since prehistoric Brattle Hall days — But he didn’t have to do it as Willard was soon there, and with “Brown and the car” we shipped off for a tour of the “country” — If only I could tell you where we went — Actually to see the names on the crossroads sign-posts and the long-visualized little villages still over running with American [p. 8] khaki — Y.M.C.A. signs on old barns ^and^ horses & carrions camouflaged by fine groves nearer Paris had been the anti-aircraft guns and fields upon fields of aeroplane hangars with each wonderful bird tethered nearby, distinctive were its mark of death head, animal etc. Af Douglas’s descriptions make one’s head swim. I thought even at the beginning of the war that aviation thrilled me about as much as anything could, but to hear him talk of vrilles[?] and dipping one wing into a cloud as you raced with a friend on the home-stretch, as if [p. 9 marked 5] climbing cloud mountains and swooping into cloud valleys, nose dives and corkscrew turns — there’s nothing like it in the world!
We stayed out about an hour, buzzing thro’ the loveliness ^of the^ most peaceful-looking country imaginable. To be sure, the trenches were ‘over there beyond that line of woods,” but here with wheat-and-poppy fields, cuddling villages and long, rolling sweeps of unscarred countryside. Except for the scarcity of human beings in evidence, it might have been a world of peace. We didn’t even hear one simple distant boom.
[p. 10] At supper came the general and his whole staff. I sat at his right, Willard at his left (Elsie James is the only woman who had visit dined with them up till now then!) — and they all talked as simply and jovially as if nothing in the world were happening. Only they talked of war always[?], and never for a moment did their faces lose their intent look of absorption. A military band played outside in the twilight, and afterwards I had crimson rambler[?] from the General’s garden. We “gave him a lift” to the staff meeting, ^— he was a charmer —^ then sped homeward in an orange [??]. And at the end, to make [p. 11 marked 6] the day[?] complete, beyond all completion, we took a stroll under the Arc de Triomphe to the Bois.
Then came the 4th — Reg and Rose had seats of honor with an Embassy friend, so I strolled with the crowds in a vain effort to get within seeing distance of the Place d’léna on the avenue du President Wilson. Giving it up, I decided to make for the Place de la Concorde to see them come down the Champs Elysees — Being in a French crowd, flower laden and jubilant with [p. 12] enthusiasm was after all the nicest thing one could do. We stood in chatting expectancy waiting, waiting, gasping at the live successive loops of an American aeroplane that swooped down almost into the Place itself, — Then – the strains of the 2nd Connecticut March suddenly clear on the breeze and swinging down the Champs Elysees the Marines of Chateau-Fluerry[?] and Bouresches, silent stern, set faces tanned the color of their helmets[?], frowning with a look of achievement and understanding which no one will ever forget.
[p. 13 marked 7] Do you remember Silas, how just a year ago, we used to think that we’d give about anything out of[?] our lives to have been in Paris for the arrival of Pershing’s troops on July 4th, 1917?
And here was I watching the fulfillment in 1918 — the proud fighters who knew what war meant and what history must mean — —
As they swung into the Plaza, the band burst into “Over There,” and the French mob shrieked itself hoarse with “Hoorays” and “Vive [p. 14] l’Amerique!” hurling flowers right and left against the unyielding[?] bayonets. Company on company of them passed, their officers mounted in front, all with the same indescribable expression — not triumphant, not exciting simply understanding.
Then came the French, poilus[?] afoot and on horseback decked out with flowers at in every pocket or baroniette[?] blade, weatherbeaten and battered too, but stern but not tense, each an individual in his expression and mental attitude. Then cornets [p. 15 marked 8] blew an obviously fiery blast and then they too, wheeled round in front of the Strasbourg statue and the crowd rushed into the vacuum.
Stumbling over to the Crillon in hopes of meeting Reg & Rose, I caught a sidewise glimpse at[?] an animated group on the other sidewalk — and there was Rusty!
Rusty, fresh from a dressing station in Belleau Wood of 12 hours a day top-speed work — but the same cunning old Rusty, looking almost younger and more unscarred than ever. It was such a joy to see him
[p. 16] He came back to lunch with me, where we were joined by Edward & Gladys Hunt, and afterwards he talked all about his work and the war as only Rusty could[.] Then off to see them at the [??] hospital. One of the most wonderful parts of everything is to see how the officers & doctors love their men. You ought to hear Willard talk about his, and have seen Rusty rush straight for them in his precious few hours Paris leave. He is going back to his Base Hospital now, and I guess it’s a [p. 17 marked 9] good thing, for no one could long keep up that dressing station strain.
When they all slipped off, Reg & I dashed down to the Comedie Francaise to get in as much as was left of a special July 4th performance for which, at Melle[?] de Rose’s suggestion, the Directeur had sent us complimentary tickets. You see, they were to recite “The Psalm of Life” and another thing of Grandpapei’s[?]. We got there for the beginning of a Revolution scene —Washington in the darkest days of the war, Lafayette and the 13 starred flag [p. 18] on the battlements and a sacred covenant “pour l’Avenir[?] et la Victoire” Reg & I were utterly weak and shaking after that, and thought that the only thing that could save us from complete ruin was a scene from l’Abbe Constantine next on the program. But when the curtain went up there was instead of a perfect Comedie Francaise interior, there was the whole Marine band straight lines of khaki erect against a mountainous background. The leader gave a bow & a smile, then [p. 19 marked 10] [??] bang! They were off into some wild ragtime thing, followed by the “Long, long Trail” ^(sung by chorus)^then “Marseillaise & “the Star Spangled Banner” For that 1 the flag was brought in by more marines who stood in an [??] row at attention, while two or three of France’s most famous poets and actors recited stirring and beautiful poems, ^in front of them^ kissing the flag as only a Frenchman could do it, pressing flowers upon the poor, abashed little standard- bearer and almost sweep up the heads off the whole line with [p. 20] all-embracing gestures — By this time, Reg and I were sobbing hysterically & the audience cheering it’s loudest — never have I gone through such a gaunt[sic] of feelings — To see that in the Comedie Francaise with a French Audience — It was beyond all belief!
In the end acte[?] we went out to substitute Machado for Peg, who’d also appeared on the spur of the moment, & we sneaked in for the last stanza of the “Psalm of Life” and [p. 21 marked 11] poems of Alan Seeger, Poe, Rostand and others. I’m sending you the letter beautifully read and newspaper accounts of it all
Never, never, never do I expect to live through quite such a day of feelings again —
Machado & I raced for tea between the lines of flags and holiday props. Paris was decked out as I don’t believe it’s been since beginning of the war – beginning last July 4th w street vendors at every corner pinned American flags on the passersby, and the shops & public buildings [p. 21 margin] For the first time over here, one felt that joyous holiday thrill of happiness. The War just rolled off for a few hours. And it over Paris was the most heavenly of summer days skies to crown it all!
[p. 22] Think of an American flag on the Tour Eiffel!
And Now I’m back again, taking Rose off with me for a short vacation. It all seems like a dream, but a stack of wonderful love letters & Al’s blessed pictures were here to keep it all going. I was going to beg you for pictures — You don’t know how much they mean[.] Please send more & more & more — They go the rounds, you know and then come back to my wall. I enclose my latest scarf-condint[?] requirements taken hastily, as usual messy hair. A heart overflowing with all the [p. 22 margin:] surfing emotions of these last days
from
Your Bun.
[Note: text from p. 1 margin doesn't easily fit into the transcription] [p. 1 margin]: children out. Of course the city couldn’t be evacuated completely. Dearest dearest love dear people from your old Bun.

• Keywords: long archives; henry w. longfellow family papers (long 27930); erica (thorp) de berry; document; correspondence; joseph gilbert thorp jr.; anne allegra (longfellow) thorp; france; lacaune; europe; school; education; places; war; world war i; health and illness; death; paris; friendship; social life; travel; Erica Thorp deBerry Papers (1006/004.006); (LONG-SeriesName); Outgoing (1006/004.006.002); (LONG-SubseriesName); 1918 (1006/004.006.002-006); (LONG-FileUnitName)