March 9, 1945 Friday

France

Hello, at last, my dearest,

Finally I am off duty for a time and not too tired to write, so I shall get right about bringing you up to date on my activities for the last week and a half. But first let me say I love you very, very much. Perhaps you know that, but just for the thrill of writing it – I love you very, very, very much and feel that you love me, too. That’s very nice, isn’t it? That we love each other, I mean. That’s what makes life warm and good, no matter where I am. I love to think about you, Hon, going to school and teaching and playing the piano. Just being yourself. It sort of connects me up with civilization. Because I am connected very closely with you and you live among those civilized things that are just missing over here. 

But I must tell you about Paris. I know I can’t tell you everything, but I’ll do the best I can. The little impressions that you get are the main things, and they are hard to put on paper. So here we go again chronologically thru my trip to Paris starting on March 1.

I rode to Paris in true army style in the rear of a 2½ ton truck. In fact, I slept there. By traveling all one night we reached Paris about 8 in the morning. First we drove thru town looking for the place to report. I noticed that Paris was intact – not at all broken up like London. There were plenty of civilians around and a number of G.I.’s, but not too many for Paris passes are well regulated and given mainly to combat troops.

I booked at the Mayflower Officers’ Club and was given a private room in the Hotel Metropole just down the street. It is not far from the Place D’Etoile. The room was a bit larger than those at the Bradford, and decorated quite royally – frilly wood-work and a carved ceiling that looked like the top of a theatre, four big mirrors, a mock fire-place and a wash-stand and toilet in one corner. I was hungry as could be so I ate a lot of coffee and donuts at the Mayflower Club, and a complete meal. The Club is one of the best Paris Hotels. They fed us in two large halls with the best of service and table ware, but the food was G.I. – better cooked than I have ever had it, tho. 

I was pretty tired then, and was surprized at myself that I didn’t give much of a damn if I saw “Paree” or not. I never felt like that before. Even the string orchestra that played very European waltzes and polkas during our meal didn’t make me very enthusiastic. But I went ahead anyway, had a class A uniform pressed out, and signed up for a tour of the city. Wore my dark green outfit – shirt, pants, and blouse – all the time I was there. The tour left at three p.m. and lasted until 5:15. You know how they are, we whizzed in a bus from place to place, seeing just about everything for a glance or two. “We” is just me and you for from the time of the tour on, I went around mostly by myself. Just didn’t find anybody that wanted to do just the things I did. Drinking and women seemed about all the other officers were interested in! Well, here are the things I saw in rapid succession on the tour. I am sending you pictures of most of them. We went down the Champs Elysées to the Arc de Triomphe at the Place D’Etoile – only the one relief pertaining to French liberty was knicked, and that not badly. Then down Avenue Foch (Paris streets make me wonder about Keene’s claim to the widest paved – ) to the ultra-modern Palais de Chaillot and the gardens of the Trocadero. Right here I was snapped out of my first sluggish attitude and felt really interested for the first time. I was my old sight-seeing self from then on. We took in the Eiffel Tower, Napoleon’s Tomb, rode up the Left Bank past those famous stalls along the Seine, crossed over to the Île de la Cité and saw a procession going on in the court before the Notre Dame cathedral. Then we looked at the outside of the Louvre, the Place de la Vendome, the shopping district, the Tuileries Gardens and the Place de la Concorde. 

I returned out of breath and with plenty of ideas of things I wanted to do from then on. It seemed so remarkable to see these famous places I had studied about so often. I had to hurry around to take advantage of a ticket I was given to the Opera-Comique. I rode down to it in a closed in buggy towed by a motor-bicycle. These “things” and horse drawn buggies have about replaced taxis. 

I had a whole “loge” to myself at the theatre. Perhaps somebody made a mistake, but I got a box big enough for six, with even a private entrance! I felt like nothing less than Prince Leopold as I gazed in august solitude at the beautiful red-plush theatre. The theatre in Nancy, the Opera-Comique, and the Opera are the finest theatres I have ever seen. In style they are something like the “Met” in Boston, but smaller and more ornate. Of course, they are built only for stage productions.

I saw 3 productions that night, two short operettas and a one-act modern job that was actually a little opera. The first was an old-time operetta, and last was a new comedy. In between was the modern opera – the story of a sailor returning to his wife; she doesn’t recognize him and kills him in his sleep to get money in order to help her husband. It was typical French irony, and done with almost stereotyped actions and weird make-up. For example, one character was a livid green, the hero, red, and so forth. The actions were not realistic but grotesque pantomime; it was all dramatically effective, tho. I had no trouble understanding the French. 

I went to bed early that night to get rested up. Next morning I set out about 9 with the idea of getting a ticket to the opera and of seeing more of the Rive Gauche. I went all over after a ticket but wasn’t successful. I did bump into a major, tho, who took me to dinner at the SHAEF Officers’ mess [Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force; Hotel Meurice]. You can imagine how grand that was. The lowest ranking man there was the major (except me), and we were served with that subdued air found only in the very snootiest places. About the best service and food I have found in France. After dinner I went down to the Louvre. It is open, but you can only get a hint of what it once was. The Egyptian rooms are all open, but the paintings and sculptures are not there. Either in the U.S. or Germany or bomb shelters. The place is extremely large, and the rooms very elegant in the style of some Louis or other. In peace time I think it would be the finest museum and gallery in the world. We’ll have to see it sometime together.

I went across the Seine to the Rive Gauche and walked slowly up the river toward the Île de la Cité. Examined the stalls of the “Bouquiniste” – they sell old books and new, paper bound ones – all of fairly good taste. Also old prints and post-cards. Seeing the old men fishing in the Seine completed the perfect Left Bank atmosphere. I wandered on to the Cathedral of Notre Dame and went inside. It was interesting to see with all its history and fame, but not nearly the most beautiful cathedral I have seen.

The Paris Subway, the METRO, is free for soldiers. I did most of my touring in it. It is a good system, but sometimes you have to walk quite a ways between transfers. I went down to the Café de la Paix for a snack and returned to the Opera to see if I could get a last minute ticket. My persistence paid off and I got a seat just before the first note of “Rigoletto.” So I broke the long jinx that has kept me from an opera so long! I could write a week about that evening. The Opera itself is one of the great national theatres of France along with the Opera-Comique. I sat way up high in exactly the same relative spot you sat when you saw “La Gioconda.” The theatre was superlative. Like you see in European movies. The ceiling was very ornate with some fine painting. I was very close to it, so could appreciate it well! I had studied so much of this very theatre that it was hard to make it seem real. They teach French very well in the States. I felt familiar with all I saw in Paris, even to the plan of the city. I already knew where most of the sights were located.

The performance of “Rigoletto” was first rate. Best orchestra I have heard in months, big too. The action was of the best. The soprano was the only weak spot. I have heard much better. Have you seen “Rigoletto”? I was very satisfied by it. Wonderful!

The opera was followed by a short, modern ballet that was full of color but meaningless to me. Called “Music Hall Impressions.” During the performance the man next to me became friendly. He ran a movie theatre in Paris, I found. I had a glass of wine with him, he gave me two passes to his theatre, and we talked over the opera and ballet. All my talking in Paris was in my own practical French. My grammar is not always accurate but I can say about anything. 

Well, my night was not yet over. I had two passes to the Casino de Paris, so I invited my new civilian friend to go along. You see the opera started at 6:30, so it was over early. 

We saw the last half of the show at the Casino. It was a glorified vaudeville show. It definitely would not run in Boston. Talk about peeled onions; Gypsy Rose Lee is a ham in comparison to these French. When I had recovered my breath, I said good-bye to the movie-house director and went home for coffee and donuts before bed. At the Club they served only these at the bar, but with usual French finesse. To give an atmosphere of variety they took each order with great care – coffee and donuts is too simple. They had to know 1) just coffee or coffee and? 2) with milk? 3) with sugar? 4) how much sugar? 5) donuts? 6) how many donuts? After all this you felt as though you had selected a six course meal!

Next day I felt fine and set out on an orderly campaign to see what I had missed so far. I went to see the Place de la Bastille, then walked thru the narrow, old, crowded, poor Montmartre. That brought me with an abrupt change to the enormous Church of the Sacred Heart – Sacré Coeur. I have never been more impressed with a building. It sits on a big hill overlooking all Paris. It is of pure white stone, very large and more Moslem than Christian. Very bright and exalting on the outside, its dark, sombre, subterranean crypt contrasts that well. I wandered slowly thru the tunnels of the crypt. It’s not frightening but very peaceful and calm. The whole building gives an impression of exalting peace that I have never seen before. 

I headed toward the Palace of Luxembourg next but took a wrong train and ended up at the Champs de Mars. I took it all philosophically, had some French coffee and some red wine and tried again. I had more luck then and reached the Palace after seeing the St. Sulpice church. The museum is closed, so I moseyed around trying to find a door that would open. I found one, all right. I walked in and began looking around. A French soldier came up, whacked his heels and gave me a palmy French salute. I returned a practical American salute. We began to parry verbally. Soon it became clear that I was in the private home of the President of the French Senate! I told him I was just making a little visit. He said I needed an appointment for that. He whacked his heels and saluted. I threw one at him and retired gracefully. I bet I have seen more of the Pres. of the Senate’s home than any living American.

From there I went to the Sorbonne, the Boulevard St. Mitchel (Boul’ Mitch), the old Roman Cluny Museum, the Cathedral of St. Etienne Du Mont and the Panthéon. This last was Roman in style, like the Eglise de la Madeleine I saw earlier. It was very exciting on the inside, tho. Paintings, or rather murals all about – on French history. It was very roomy with tall columns. Not at all crowded. There I saw the original painting of St. Geneviève watching over Paris. It has always been a favorite of mine. Do you know it? It is a big panel of a mural; I haven’t the slightest idea who painted it. Soon an old Frenchman came around droning “au tombeau” in a sepulchral voice. I followed him to the dark old basement and he showed me the tombs of Voltaire, Victor Hugo, Rousseau (homme de la nature et de la verité) and many others. He told me about them in French.

On the way back I passed by the sidewalk art displays on the Boul’ Mitch – that’s near the left bank and like Greenwich Village. There I became a patron of the arts to the tune of 200 francs and bought the first original oils for the Russell gallery. You will get them soon, Hon. 

That evening I went to the Folies Bergère, of great fame. If they have always been as they are, their fame is completely undeserved. It was just cheap burlesque, not even very burlesque-ish. I rode to the Folies in an old time horse and coach, with the driver up on top!

The next day we had to leave Paris. I hated to leave, because even in a few days the famed spirit of Paris can be felt. It is an artistic, warm, friendly, tasteful, colorful, and lusty city. You have to see it to understand it. It has character. I left with a bunch of phrases humming in my head. Phrases from tunes in the Folies, the Opera-Comique, and Rigoletto – Paris sera toujours Paris; qu’il est Lourd!; cela ne suffit pas; le malediction!

To answer your questions in advance – Paris stores are still in the height of fashion, but have little to sell that is not rationed. The latest styles for women are everywhere and all the girls use make-up, and well. Cigarettes make every combat soldier rich. We have beaucoups of them, and they are worth their weight in gold here.

Voilà, et maintenant, ma cherie, je voudrais dire seulement que je t’aime plus que je peux dire et pour jamais. Tu as mon coeur et mon esprit, completement et sans aucune doute. 

Toujours à tu,

Wallace.