Americans in Paris_ Life and Death Under Nazi Occupation - Charles Glass [210]
p. 61 Hagerman, an amateur artist’ ‘Le Château de Candé ou le premier “Americain Présence Post” en France’, Echos des USA, publication of the American Embassy, Paris, no. 8, March–April 2007, p. 2.
p. 61 By early June 1940 Janet Flanner, ‘Annals of Collaboration: Equivalism I’, The New Yorker, 22 September 1945, p. 29.
p. 62 Fullerton found Bedaux Jim Christy, The Price of Power: A Biography of Charles Eugene Bedaux, New York: Doubleday and Company, 1984, p. 214.
p. 62 ‘slothful and unbridled’ Janet Flanner, ‘Annals of Collaboration: Equivalism II’, The New Yorker, 6 October 1945, p. 40.
p. 62 Bedaux, who believed George Ungar, The Champagne Safari, documentary film, Canada, 1995, at 1:04:00.
p. 62 ‘I can be of more’ Christy, The Price of Power, p. 214.
p. 62 ‘She grumbled that’ Quentin Reynolds, The Wounded Don’t Cry, London: Cassell and Company, p. 70.
p. 63 ‘We were a bit’ Ibid.
p. 63 ‘No one woke’ Ibid., p. 71.
p. 63 When a German battalion Roster of the American Field Service Volunteers, French Units, 1939–1940.
p. 63 ‘There were quite’ Peter Muir, War without Music, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1940, p. 249.
p. 64 He finally found Ibid., p. 262.
p. 64 ‘we had better start’ ‘Americans Report Nazis Fill Spain’, New York Times, 19 July 1940, p. 10.
p. 64 ‘It was then’ Muir, War without Music, p. 252.
p. 64 ‘On our arrival’ Carisella and Ryan, The Black Swallow of Death, pp. 247–8.
p. 65 At Charles Bedaux’s luxurious Robert Gildea, Marianne in Chains: In Search of the German Occupation of France, 1940–45, London: Macmillan, 2002, p. 43.
p. 65 The German army was encircling Ibid., p. 46.
p. 65 The hospital dispatched Christy, The Price of Power., p. 214.
Chapter Six: The Yankee Doctor
p. 66 Back in Paris … By the time Bullitt Dr Charles Bove with Dana Lee Thomas, Paris: A Surgeon’s Story, New York: Little, Brown and Company, 1956, p. 223. Dr Bove’s account differs slightly from the majority of historians’. He wrote that de Martel took an overdose of Luminal and turned on the gas jets ‘to make doubly certain that he would be dead on the day the Germans entered Paris’. De Martel’s suicide did not come as a shock. Bove found his colleague ‘so deep in melancholy that nothing could arouse him’. Before the German advance on Paris, Bove wrote, ‘Martel had always been one of the jolliest members of staff. He was a debonair dresser with perpetually smiling eyes and a tongue that was always ready to burst into a humorous sally. He was the eternal playboy who had refused to surrender to his years. But now he had become a man transformed. For days he had scarcely spoken a word to us, and then only on business.’
On 10 June, the writer André Maurois had a worrying conversation with de Martel:
‘As for me’, he had said to us, ‘my mind is made up: the moment I learn that they are in the city I shall kill myself.’
And then he explained to us at length that most people do not know how to kill themselves, and bungle the job, but that a surgeon holds the revolver as precisely as he holds a scalpel and always hits a vital spot. Then, half-seriously, he added: ‘If you, too, have no desire to survive our misfortunes, I offer you my services …’
At ten o’clock in the evening, when I was already on the ’plane bound for England, the sound of the telephone interrupted my wife, who was sadly selecting the few objects she could take with her. It was Thierry de Martel.
‘I wanted to find out’, he said, ‘whether you and your husband were still in Paris.’
‘André has been sent on a mission to London’, she replied, ‘and, as for me, I am leaving tomorrow at dawn.’
‘I am going to leave too’, he said in a strange tone, ‘but for a much longer voyage …’
… ‘You can still do so much good’, she said. ‘Your patients, your assistants, your nurses, all of them need you …’
‘I cannot go on living’, Martel said. ‘My only son was killed in the last war. Until now I have tried to believe that he died to save France. And now here is France, lost in her turn. Everything I have lived for is going