Arcachon, January 13, 1918.
Dear Family:
I’ll tell you what the Duvals have done for me and let you judge what kind of friends they are. First, they invited me to Christmas dinner, and having failed to reach me, invited me again for New Years. They have insisted that I stay with them, and so I have had dinner and afternoon tea here every afternoon and stayed all night since that time, and have spent my four days’ leave with them. During that time their interest in my pleasure has not relaxed in the least, yet there has been no feeling they were neglecting their duties for my pleasure. Finding that I loved music, there has been hardly an afternoon that other people of musical talent were not invited to tea, the Duvals, themselves, being very musical. Among these people have been some of the finest women of France, many of them daughters of French nobility of the last three centuries.
On January 3 the aviation school gave itself over to a fête day in honor of a delegation of the neutral countries of the world. All the guns were firing from morning until night, and all the aeroplanes were constantly in flight. The delegation consisted of the principal dignitaries of the countries they represented and were arrayed in gorgeous attire.
Conducted about in automobiles by the commandant of the school, they beheld with strained dignity, the war preparation of France. We pilots discussed among ourselves these dukes and lords of different skins, whom the French call “Neuters.” The work finished and pomp dismissed, I went as usual in the officers’ special truck to Arcachon. The array of automobiles before the door warned me of what was coming, so I swallowed my surprise successfully when I was ushered in among the array of “high-heads” to inspect their medals at close range. As I passed from room to room all the Duvals, each in turn, stepped out from their “Neuter” guests with marked cordiality to say how glad they were to see me, and where it was convenient, introduced me to the others as an “American aviator in the French Foreign Legion.” It always pleased me to note the embarrassment of the duke or prince in question when he tried to decide whether or not he should shake hands with me. When they seemed anxious to do so, I permitted it. Then Catherine Duval, the daughter, led me to the next prettiest girl in the room and said I would find her charming. We talked of music and the difference between French and American girls. Meanwhile, the “Neuters” were trying to make their school-French a common meeting ground.
In the next room, the sister of my partner was occupied with a gentleman from Argentina. She being a very charming girl, he proceeded to scatter “bouquets” with glances ardent. “Of course,” said she, “while you are paying me pretty speeches here, your brother may be suing the favor of some general’s daughter in Berlin.” The “Neuter” lapsed to more commonplace remarks. If you knew what the French have endured, you could excuse her frankness.
Among those present were first consul to the king of Spain, the prince of Siam, and others of the same hue. They departed, and as I happened to be near the door when the migration started, most of them thanked me for their pleasant time; the rest admitted the honor. Then we had a little music feast; the girl with whom I had talked has a voice which would be ready for Grand Opera in three years. Oh! They are all so absolutely charming that I shall never be content till you meet them. You may begin to plan now on a trip to France after the war.
They had not told me of their intention to entertain this delegation lest perhaps I would not have come. How courteous. But they didn’t know me.
Their family is numerous. The man in charge of the delegation was a cousin. Another cousin is on the staff of the school here at Cazaux, having been incapacitated by service at the Front; he said he would be pleased to do anything he could for me at the school. Another cousin, an aviator, with eight Boche to his official credit, and twice as many actually, who is chief of his escadrille and came down to this school to give lectures, has been staying here for four days. He is twenty-four, and a charming fellow. I asked if he would permit me to apply for admission to his escadrille, and he said he also would make the request, and that it might well be accomplished. It might mean a matter of life and death some day to be in the escadrille whose chief was personally interested in one. Two years ago, this boy’s brother was brought down in a fighting plane. Two days later the father and mother took this boy to Paris and enlisted him in aviation to fill his brother’s place—and he has filled it. Do you get the spirit?
A captain whom I met here was a civilian at the beginning of the war. His son enlisted in the infantry, and he enlisted, too, that he might be by his son’s side. His son died in his arms. Now the father is a captain, but his lips turn white when he speaks of the Germans. Do you get the spirit?