Letters, Jan. 6, 1941

Joy in Europe

Sirs: You may be interested in hearing how the news of President Roosevelt's re-election was received by the citizens of France.

I can best describe the reactions of the people by saying that I—an American citizen, homeward bound, had the impression of being swept along the road between Paris and Lisbon on a wave of enthusiasm and affection —all of which was meant for Mr. Roosevelt.

My car bore the insignia of the American Field Service and the American Red Cross; therefore, on November 5 and 6, I became the representative of the American tradition.

I took the cheers—I heard the pleas—which tried to ascend the wall of tragic and unnatural silence behind which the French people are imprisoned, which were directed toward the President of the United States—and toward the American nation. The French are enormously grateful to the American people—"for being chic, you know, for showing, et si largement, to the best man that they knew how to appreciate his merits. . . ." As the French see it, the American people have made a gesture of friendship for France in electing their President, their first—and last—friend.

Before leaving Paris on the afternoon of November 5, we—my wife and I—stopped to say good-by to our old friend, the proprietor of the large cafe in the Place Marceau. We expected to find him rather sad at our departure; but no—he was all smiles: "You will be coming back before long," he said, "and to a happier France! For I have just heard good news. I have just heard a German soldier grumbling: 'Du lieber Gott, I greatly fear that Roosevelt has been re-elected!' There is a high moral authority in question, you see, which (thank God!) is not powerless against our enemies. . . ." And we observed that the Germans sang less in Paris on that day. . . .

And people talked to us, as if—through us —they hoped to get a message through to the President of the United States. "Tell him not to forget us. ... Tell him not to lose faith in us. If ever you have the honor of meeting Monsieur le Président, will you please try to make him understand that, in spite of all that has happened, France is still the same? We are not a nation of cowards and weaklings.

Events are liars—we were not defeated—we were sold, betrayed. . . ." Spain also had her message: "We are glad of the re-election of Roosevelt," the Spaniards told us. "It will mean a certain restraint on certain people! We do not want war—but we are oxen, with the yoke around our necks—dreading to be led to a second slaughter." Portugal, too. . . . We drove over the side of a precipice in the fog—only a small rock had saved our car from rolling down the mountainside. In the pitch blackness, a crew of ten workingmen struggled to save our car from destruction, risking their necks on the slippery slope where, at any time, the car might have rolled over on them. Their work triumphantly finished, they refused to accept payment. "We do not take money from Red Cross workers, from Americans," their spokesman said, "for the Americans are our friends. We look to them to save us from being pushed over a precipice. . . ." And we drove off to heartfelt cries of "Viva I' America! Viva Roosevelt !"

MAURICE BARBER