File:Erica (Thorp) de Berry to Thorp family, 18 March 1918 (05d64c22-1695-4719-9f03-cb216c051ba5).jpg

Manuscript letter

Archives Number: 1006/004.006.002-006#013

March 18, 1918.
Dearest Family,
Off to Evry[?] in a blissful Spring softness, so deliciously balmy that muffler and high boots seem insults. And it was just like this yesterday when Hugo and I strolled thro’ the misty, sleepy Tuileries en route to Sunday dinner at the Sauveurs! Later we went to another lovely concert with Horteuse – a party got up by Jack at which alas! he couldn’t be present at, having been ordered off to Tours at the last moment.
Spring is really [crossed out: just about] here at last and freesia is beginning to appear on the flower-stands! I wish you could see the salon, -- lilacs in one corner, freesia on the mantelpiece, hyacinth bulbs in blossom, on the desk Roman[?] anemones, etc. on the tea-table; -- and in the country, [crossed out: there are] primroses by the dozen forsythia, and fat lilac-buds. Oh, for a March picnic today!
The main events of the week (page 2) have been another air-raid, and the terrible munitions factory explosion, which you’ve probably read about. The former wasn’t big enough to cable you about. I was in bed when it began, and had a funny time forcing an unused door of the salle de bain in order to sneak into their bedroom without running into the gentleman caller in the salon. Such funny situations [crossed out: do] as develop in air-raids! A caller may have to stay long past midnight, [crossed out: and] while everyone gets sleepier and sleepier, with no saving[?] crackers and milk to relieve the situation. I often try to imagine air-raid parties in the billiard-room or cellar. Some special, new form of entertainment ought to be provided, if one had ingenuity enough to think of it of a fairly silent nature [crossed out: for one always wants to hear] not to drown the noise of the German planes. At last I think I (page 3) know the famous intermittent “rouflement,” tho’ Lucinda’s filleul told us one only heard it after they’d passed. It has always just preceded a crash of bombs with me! (We’re passing peach trees in bloom in dingy little back yards! Just about this time last year Tuk and Papa were seeing them on the south side o’ Pine [??]!)
The explosion was a terrible thing – so severe that windows in our hotel, even, were broken. (Between) air-raids and explosions there soon won’t be any glass left in the city. You never saw anything like the piles of it that are brushed off sidewalks!) It came at about 2 o’clock, -- an immense shake and roar – which everyone instinctively thought must be a bomb or bombs. Many even rushed into “caves,” [crossed out: even.]
I haven’t been near the (page 4) scene yet, but they say that the ground for several kilometres around looks like a bombarded district. It was a frightful thing, and a miracle that even more weren’t killed. American ambulances were on the scene right off, and did splendidly.
I’ve been meaning to tell you more about poor old James McMullin. After much perplexity at his slowness in getting over the jaundice, the doctors finally decided that he had infected glands, so about a week ago he was operated on for “goethe.” (?) He might have chosen slow treatment, which would have meant being permanently out of the army, but of course he chose the operation in spite of its seriousness, on the kill-or-cure chance and is now getting along splendidly with the hope of getting back into service in (page 5) the late Spring. I hope that at last his streak of bad luck has broken (as a final fling it sent him the air-raid the night after his operation, but to defy it, his pulse slowed down instead of mounting, to the doctor’s amazement!)
I have been quite often to see him, and feel quite hardened now to the peculiar sensation of visiting young men en hôpital. At first, it was queer when one went all alone, I must admit, but now I’m quite at home, chat with the orderlies, and am even served 4 o’clock chocolate and white bread sandwiches! It is a funny life, though – when I think that the only time I’ve ever seen J. McM. up and about was that one ping-pong day at the island!
Last night my filleul, who’s just been “reformé” d[?], (page 6) came for dinner and movies, where we saw the Americans being decorated by Clemenceau at the front! I hope all these war movies get quickly over to you, for I know of nothing that helps one better to realize and visualize the front-line life. It’s great seeing them with a militaire, [crossed out: too], for he explains so many fine points.
Lucinda’s filleul – Ferdinand Foebel [or Froebel?] – appeared also a few days ago – a perfect charmer, tall, handsome, immaculately dressed and even more naif than Georges, if that were possible. He told us that he [crossed out: had] was of a “caractère bizarre,” never had any “soucis,” therefore didn’t care whether he was en permission or off to the front, preferred always to wander about “tout seul” without the risk of being “déranger” -ed by anyone, [crossed out: could] did not allow himself to (page 7) think of “les femmes” or marriage till the war should be over, etc. etc. etc. We had a wonderful time jollying him, to which he responded with utmost seriousness or else out a sudden bewitching smile. I’m sure “les femmes” don’t leave him alone, however much he professes to scorn them! We’re plotting a match between him and Yvonne, our sweet little waitress. The first act begins this P.M. when she appears with tea for L. & filleul and will give him a preliminary scan. He sweetly told us that never in his life before had he mingled with “les riches”, yet no one could have been more graciously at his ease. I don’t know how they do it – it’s really extraordinary when one thinks of the corresponding [crossed out: type] class of “mecanicien” at home! (page 8) For two hours without a break he kept up his end of light small-talk with three “dames étrangères”, and was never for a moment at a loss for a word. At first he seriously refused chocolat, thinking that we were making it just for him, and only after much persuasion and the sight of our full cups would he give in. Even then he couldn’t bring himself to accept a slice of bread and confiture, thinking that we were doing too much for him. Such an “indépendent” I have never seen, nor more artless a charmer!
I somehow missed out on describing to you the impressive funeral of our Lady Bountiful at Presles, she who gave us the orphanage for the children, and has done all manner of good deeds far and wide. About three weeks ago she died of a (page 9) lingering pleurisy and the whole countryside was truly heart-broken. She was a very great lady, besides being such a good one, with a mansion at Paris in addition to the huge Presles estate; so a beautiful service was first held at the Madeleine with every pew filled, (figuratively speaking – Of course pews don’t exist over here.) and the next day came the service at the little church [crossed out: at] in Presles village.
I went with M Jaccasi[?] and Madame de Viel Castel, also of the Comité, and we were shown to seats in the midst of a silent mob of friends, villagers, and orphan children ( not only ours but those of other schools and orphelinats in the neighborhood whom she’d supported.) The little church was hung in deep black – [crossed out: long] broad sable festoons with trimming of silver fringe and the Potron (page 10) coat-of-arms embroidered in silver -- and over the coffin was thrown a beautiful covering of black and silver, covered with stars and a coronet like any king’s. There were no flowers at all, but tier upon tier of tall candles on the altar. The half dozen priests were robed in black and silver, and the whole made a most gravely beautiful and dignified picture which I shall never forget. Add to that exquisite singing, and a [crossed out: simple] solemn High Mass which to me was far more impressive in its simplicity and dignity than the Episcopal Burial Service, and you can imagine what a scene it was!
Afterwards, we followed the hearse to the little, windy, hill-top l cemetery, (page 11) where for the second time the Potron family went thro’ the heart-rending French custom of shaking hands with everyone of the 500 odd friends present – Dear old Monsieur Potron even insisted on taking the hand of each of our garçons, whom he’s always been especially fond of. It was a harrowing sight, for he was heart-broken, poor old man, having adored his sweet wife. I don’t see how the French can keep up that habit, with all their wonderful sense of the fitness of things – that and the ghastly, artificial wire & bead “floral pieces” with which they overload their cemeteries. One certainly finds strange inconsistencies over here.
-- -- I’m so glad, Papa, that you had that nice Florida trip. What fun it (page 12) must have been and how nice of and for the Disstons[?] to invite you! I wish you could have got to see Amy[?]. Just what is Bobby’s official position? So many people ask me, and I can’t tell them. I hope you’ve all been reading “High Adventure” in the Atlantic, for I think it is one of the best, and so “over-hereish.”
It was such fun to find “Plattsburg Ballads”(?) in Brentano’s the other day!
We’re in the throes of the moving—question again, and I expect to find our fate settled en rentrant ce soir. The others have set their heart on a Hotel Metropole near the Etoile, which is more airy for the summer and less expensive than the Montana. However, the [I can’t see what follows.]
[written on the left side of the first page]:
I enclose pictures of Presles. The bandaged hands don’t mean [??] wounds, only “engelures”, horrid, swollen knuckles that all French children seem to have en hiver.
[written down on the left side of the last page]:
Even the inspiration of all of you doesn’t seem to lift my letters above chocolatey ground-[???????] [The above passage may not even have words in the correct order.]

• Keywords: long archives; henry w. longfellow family papers (long 27930); erica (thorp) de berry; document; correspondence; henry wadsworth longfellow family papers (1006); travel; world war i; places; europe; france; paris; Erica Thorp deBerry Papers (1006/004.006); (LONG-SeriesName); Outgoing (1006/004.006.002); (LONG-SubseriesName); 1918 (1006/004.006.002-006); (LONG-FileUnitName)