Jacques FRANÇOIS - Moving letter during the war.

Jacques FRANCOIS (1920.2003)

Autograph letter signed to Olga Barbezat.

Four pages in-4°. December 26, 1944

“I hit rock bottom, I went beyond the limits of disappointment and sadness, I was too sad to be sad anymore, I don't care about anything! »

Very moving letter from the French actor recounting with fatalism his personal situation at the end of the Second World War.

“My Olga, For so many days and months since I have not heard from you and since you have no longer heard from me, I no longer know what to say to you, what to start with, what can help you. interest, what is important and what is not. I will try to give you a short summary of what has happened to me since the last letter that I sent you, I believe, from Clef des Champs, some time before the arrival of American troops in our region. One fine day we saw the German troops leave and an hour later the Americans arrived, it was about a week and a half after the Allies arrived in Paris. There was no battle at home and if there had been one it would have been very indifferent to me. After a week of hesitation I decided to return to Paris to see what was happening to theater and cinema and if there was a possibility for me to work again . After serious investigation I saw that there was only some chance of playing the “hero” of the resistance which I was not. It seems that Marchal, Dacquemine and others covered themselves with glory by taking German prisoners, previously disarmed by the Americans. I would like to believe it, but in addition to these difficulties in finding something to do, the general atmosphere aroused such disgust in me that I quickly decided to get away from it all by any means possible. The French were no longer tolerable for me and I decided to seek refuge with the invading forces. However, I started by spending two weeks fighting at the Hôtel du Beaujolais where I had settled. After which, thanks to my mother's Americanism and some connections, I managed to enlist in the American Army, at least in the French element incorporated into the American army for the repatriation of deportees and prisoners of war. . A decree from the Minister of National Defense bombarded me, Lieutenant, I had a magnificent uniform made for me (without, believe me, losing my sense of humor for a second) and I was sent to Champagne in a camp American training camp where I spent a little over a month. After which I was judged to be full of qualities and I was seconded to the General Staff of the 7th American Army to deal with the questions about which I said a word to you earlier. The result is achieved, I am only in contact with these foreigners, I have practically no contact with the French except to give them instructions and not receive them. I have a huge, interesting job, which doesn't give me a minute of respite, full of responsibilities, I am treated with immense respect by everyone, everyone who needs me. I am based in a town in Alsace where the sound of cannon is uninterrupted. I go online every day and in the evening I come back here, I have accommodation in the most beautiful house, with people who don't know how to please me, I'm warm, I have boiling water , a bathroom, a car, I smoke a lot and I am always delighted to be so far from everything . I never receive letters, I rarely send them, only to my mother, to my comrade Jean Denis Maillart and to you for the first time. All this my Olga shows you, I think, roughly where I am. You can guess, you who know me, that I hit rock bottom, that I went beyond the limits of disappointment and sadness, I was too sad to be sad again, I don't care about anything! All I can do to find a reason to exist is to start believing in miracles and unfortunately I am not very religious. It is impossible for me in a letter to tell you what happened to me, moreover you knew it from the letters I sent you from the countryside. All this is ruined and deeply I am convinced that it is definitive (my only consolation is to know that if the being I love is alive his suffering is equal to mine, but is that a consolation? ) then to avoid having time to think too much about myself, to avoid having to make projects, to draw up activity plans, to remove sociable, professional, worldly obligations from my life, etc. I know that nothing can distract me , I have chosen the only route where this memory cannot be spoiled or soiled by contacts which would either drive me crazy or distract me and an hour later would find me ready to put an end to it for good , so I chose a kind of fake Foreign Legion. Wasn't that the best solution? I was stuck there until the end of the war and probably even a little after that, this work could be fascinating if I could get passionate about it , it's unfortunately impossible, but nevertheless through passivity, I ended up being able to of intense activity and here we are enthusiastic by my ardor, by the results that I obtain, by my sense of initiative, by my authority and I, Olga Darling, I smile gently. Those are a lot of words to talk about me. I would love to know what has become of you. Take your great courage in both hands, write me a long letter and know well my Olga that I am your friend forever, that I would give anything to see you, that I love you and that I have always remained your friend. brother. Happy New Year to Marc and you. Jacques François »