Americans in Paris_ Life and Death Under Nazi Occupation - Charles Glass [116]
When Sylvia, Françoise and an American artist friend, Katherine Dudley, attended a lecture by Paul Valéry at the College de France, a sympathetic usher hid Françoise’s overcoat with its Star of David so she could come inside.
Sylvia and a small group of friends walked through the Latin Quarter with Valéry after his lecture at the College de France. They passed the Rive Gauche, a German propaganda bookshop in what had been the Café d’Harcourt. Police guards were stationed outside to prevent students from smashing its plate-glass windows, as they had when it first opened. When Valéry saw the books of his mentor, Stéphane Mallarmé, on display to promote National Socialism, he was outraged. Sylvia wrote,
‘They dare …’ he yelled, waving his umbrella, regardless of disapproving glances from passing uniforms. It looked as if the windows of the ‘Rive Gauche’ were going to catch it again, and our master would be whirled away in a ‘salad basket’ [police van] and deported at any minute. Luckily, at that moment, a lot of determined-looking policemen came between us and the offending sight, and we dragged Valéry away, still muttering.
Sylvia visited Valéry at home in the 16th Arrondissement, within sight of the Arc de Triomphe. An air attack by the RAF began just as Sylvia and the Valéry family sat down to lunch. The old poet leaped from his chair and ran to the window to watch the bombardment. His younger son explained to Sylvia, ‘Papa adores these raids.’
Of the 340 Americans interned at Compiègne in January, only 173 remained in June. The rest had been repatriated in exchange for Germans in the United States or allowed to return to their homes in Paris. Another sixty-six internees in the camp were from the American countries of Cuba, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, San Salvador, Costa Rica, Panama and Nicaragua. A Red Cross delegation visited the camp on 16 June and reported, ‘The morale in the camp is excellent.’ Of seven barracks, three were specifically for US citizens. ‘The brick barracks are all of one model,’ the Red Cross wrote, ‘each one contains seven large rooms of fourteen beds and six smaller rooms of two or three beds.’ Of the food, the inspectors found, ‘American cooks handle the preparation of the meals and the spokesmen declare that they are very well prepared. The spokesmen check on the provisions from the standpoint of quality and quantity. In our opinion the food distributed corresponds to the basic rations.’ Clothing, however, was ‘not in good condition’. Some of the internees had been arrested in January without time to pack, and they were unable to obtain any clothes apart from those they arrived in: ‘Many of them are denuded of everything and do not have the means to buy clothes for themselves; and their families do not either (rationing of cloth, etc.); they do not have enough underclothing and would be very glad if they were aided to obtain some. They do not all have leather shoes, about ten per cent wear wooden shoes.’ Washing facilities were adequate. ‘From the hygienic point of view this camp allows nothing to be desired,’ the Red Cross noted. It added that medical care under the Cuban chief physician, Dr Soler, was ‘excellent’.
A camp inspection on 13 April noted, ‘There are no air raid precautions, and the latter do not seem to be necessary, as the camp is situated away from any dangerous zone.’ Then, on 24 June, United Press monitored a German radio broadcast that announced, ‘British planes last night dropped bombs on an internment camp near Compiègne, northeast of Paris, killing three persons and wounding one.’ The New York Times confused matters with a report one month later that ‘four Americans were killed and sixteen wounded when a plane, apparently in difficulties, jettisoned bombs on an internment camp at Compi