Julia Merle d’Aubigné
Julia Merle d’Aubigné
BEFORE THE WAR, BLANCHE’S SISTER, Julia Merle d’Aubigné, had been active doing charity work among the homeless and poor in Northern France. As war broke out, she saw the need to create an organization to help the hordes of refugees from the north who had escaped from the horrors of war. Her centre of operation was the Cirque d’Hiver, a circus building built by Napoleon in Paris, which had been turned into a vast refugee camp. She was instrumental in arranging for the French government to take over that operation, so she could concentrate on helping the trainloads of soldiers from the north, who were arriving in Paris devoid of anything. She then created an association called “Les Amis du Soldat.” Her brother Charles, pastor of the Neuilly church, along with a few of his colleagues and friends, including the pastor Victor Monod, who was to become chaplain of the French Fleet, and General Robert Nivelle, who led the French Army in 1917, gave her valuable support, but she nevertheless soon faced a serious financial problem. She decided that perhaps her sister could help raise funds in Canada, and she sailed to Montreal to talk to her. Blanche was immediately receptive, but said that it would be impossible unless she left her home and went to seek the funds in the United States.
Blanche was a very energetic, pious woman, who despaired at seeing her boys leaving for the Front, and felt that she too could work hard at making some sacrifice and contribution for the country and the world at large. Julia’s request might well be a perfect answer. Despite her sons’ dangers and sufferings, they weren’t necessarily the most unhappy. Julia had explained to her at long length the plight of millions of French citizens in all walks of life, including soldiers, orphans, refugees, and priests. This was the need that she would be addressing. Canada, in general, was a large, rich country, but Quebec and Ontario were small and geographically far removed from the rest of the nation. The northeastern United States had a huge population, was close by, and was at the centre of the financial world. Her only real contacts, however, were a few relatively distant cousins, living in the New York area. In addition, she had no financial experience, and it would likely be difficult to convince citizens of a neutral country to fund a war that no one wanted. She sought advice from her brother, who she thought might have some good US contacts. Charles suggested that she go to the congress of a McAll Mission in Hartford, which he often attended. It was early May in the second year of the war, and clearly not good timing for her, as the three eldest were getting ready to leave, and she needed to help them prepare. However, she felt that it was her duty to accept.
Blanche concluded that the solution would be to draft a sales pitch that she could present to the US audiences. But what should it be? Perhaps she could come up with it through some sort of divine intervention. She sought it one evening with such gusto that she fell asleep, already relieved and confidant that she would wake up at dawn face-to-face with a finished conference. It came to her in a dream. She had seen the “Little France,” born in an oak forest, growing in the religious spirit of cathedrals, embodied in the patriotism of Jeanne d’Arc, and gradually becoming the sovereign of a large kingdom, eventually a vast empire, proud, absolute, and magnificent. Then, following setbacks and revolutions, she is discouraged, unbelieving, and anxious, until the day when an invasion shakes her and her heroism and faith is reborn, as it was in years past. The speech that grew out of this became known as “The Soul of France.”
To organize these tours without publicity, without a manager, without the backing of a local committee, it was necessary to have everything at hand: correspondence, timetables, finances, and a multitude of other details. In a matter of weeks, she had a schedule, which began in May 1915 with two tours organized by her new friends at the McAll Mission. Her tours usually lasted about three weeks, and sometimes up to three months. She went from town to town, aiming at very large auditoriums, and collecting just enough to send to Europe: about 4,000 francs per month. On a world scale, it wasn’t a great success, but what a joy it was for her to regularly fund “good works,” where every cent counted. Best of all, perhaps, was her privilege of making lifelong friends in just about every home she stayed in. Not once was she allowed to sleep in a hotel or eat in a restaurant!
Blanche always started with “The Soul of France,” keeping in reserve for other meetings her chats about the “good works” of her sister and her illustrated lecture on Belgium. The money destined for the Belgian orphans was sent via the underground. It was only near the end of the war that their Belgian friends learned about the origins of the miraculous manna that had prevented so many children from dying of hunger.
“The Soul of France” became quite famous, and it wasn’t unusual for her to be asked to deliver it a second time on the same day. It opened many doors and many purses from both the educated and the less-educated, at large and small auditoriums, from the north to the south of the United States, and the east to the west of Canada. Basically, the Americans wanted to collaborate, as they hoped that they were helping to ensure that France wouldn’t collapse. They were saturated with newspaper articles, and welcomed the rhythmical beat of a poem. Under the varnish of materialism, the Americans had an emotional and idealistic side, easy to touch in this dramatic era. Often before she started to speak, someone would get up, “Please don’t forget to tell us about the ‘Soul of France.’” Her fifth trip, in April and May 1917, brought her to Washington, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. The news from the Front, however, was a constant worry, and often made it difficult to concentrate.
Philadelphia, 22 April 1917
My dear boys,
I can hardly believe that, having left Montreal almost three weeks ago, I haven’t been able until today to find the half day necessary to write my circular letter about my travels, and that I had to resort to sending postcards. You know better than me about the difficulties one faces when away from normal life, and in my case better organized at my writing table than you in your trenches. It is leisure time that is missing, and not the enthusiasm, between the meetings, dinners, and notes to be written. I often don’t have a minute from morning till night. Fortunately, all this allows me to work as well as possible for Tante Julia’s charities, during this pleasant summer season!
Having left Montreal on 4 April, I headed to Ithaca, a pleasant small town south of the Adirondacks. I was greeted warmly at the home of a lady who was descended from a Wells of the battle of Hastings fame, and for whom Tunbridge Wells was named, an ancestor that the good lady prefers to forget. The next day I met Jacques at the home of our dear cousins the Carharts, who received us with open arms. There were great conversations that continuously returned to “your dear soldier boys.” We walked right up to the “Sound,” where it was pleasant to climb up the footpaths and now and again rest in some sheltered corner, away from the wind. Then we had two sessions at their church, with a very friendly audience in a fragrant Easter atmosphere. At 12 on 8 April, I prayed especially for each of you. Did you feel my message?
On Tuesday morning, after Easter, I was off to New York. I presume that Jacques will have told you about his interesting, although somewhat tiring, days. It was fun to see him walking through New York, map in hand, like a very resourceful Yankee, mingling downtown with the old merchants. That’s when he wasn’t glancing at electric gadgets, lifting his mother to a platform, or dragging her down the subways. He is having fun playing Buffalo Bill, seriously interested in the Natural History Museum, quite intrigued by Billy Sunday, and moved by the superb “Joan of Arc” film. He was fascinated by the great Dutch and French masters, and I tried to teach him about the beautiful works at the Museum of Modern Art. He loved the Zoo, and was intrigued by our friend, Mr. Scheffelin’s, chemical experiments! We have two furnished small rooms in their house, and eat our meals here and there, except for their very copious breakfasts. We had a nice, light lunch at the Dufourgs’, where we got a thousand things for you. With respect to violence in the streets, all we saw were khaki tents, surrounded by people hanging out. I understand that Wilson believes that conscription will produce a superior army! If the wonderful Carharts had not given me $40, and the Scheffelins $100, New York would have produced only a marginal sum for my fund. I was there mostly for Jacques, who loved his holiday. On Saturday morning the 14th I left for Philadelphia, while he stayed until the evening.
I had an excellent reception at Miss Wood’s lovely old house on South Street. She seems to be looking younger, and her brother Walter is more of a businessman than ever. The black servant is greying and sends his best to Jacques, and the nice maids send their wishes to Tante Julia. A thoughtful detail was flowers, a yellow journal containing Tante Julia’s article on Madame Nick, and a lovely book on Franco-American relations by Mr. Jusserand. It’s interesting to be at this time in a Quaker centre, headquarters of almost all the pacifist societies of the US. These wonderful people, full of common sense, who fought for peace as long as war wasn’t declared. As of 6 April, instead of being stubborn, they have all asked themselves how best they could serve their country and humanity, without renouncing their principles. It is their conscience that is the basis of their Quaker doctrine. Some are selling their cars, others are cutting their holidays, simplifying their dress, and meals, and increasing their activities in their numerous good works for France, Belgium, Poland, Serbia, Armenia, etc. They teach the children not to leave anything on their plates. The grand ladies are planting potatoes. Miss Wood is picking up all the rags, the newspapers, and other scraps of paper, and tries to ensure that her cook should serve the entire salad, not just the heart! All that is so new in such a rich country that it’s almost a new sport, full of good taste and charm. The Quakers are calm and not as arrogant as their politicians. Who knows if the approach that they are taking so seriously won’t become a principle and a supplement to their way of life. I very much appreciated the service Sunday morning in a Presbyterian church. The clergyman quoted this sentence from a British statesman: “The great need of the age is more spiritually minded men of the world.” At five o’clock we left by car with Miss Wood for the beautiful Quaker College of Haverford, where we dined with the principal, prior to a conference in the Church Hall. It was a holiday weekend, and I saw only the families of a few professors and a few neighbours. The service was in a small, well-built auditorium, comfortable, with blank walls and austere bars at the windows, without chairs, without a lectern, not even a table to put my notes. But from those sincere expressions and closed mouths one saw their souls and their sense of duty. There was an amusing moment when I was finishing my meeting. I proposed a verse from a hymn, and a man replied that they would be embarrassed to accept! I responded, “Brave Quaker, continue to fly your spiritual flag as high as possible in spirit and truth,” which is something our churches a little too often forget!
On Monday, after settling a few minor details, I had a good meeting with members of the International Committee of Sunday Schools. I gave them a note that they promised to present at their meeting on Thursday in New York. I suggested that they should use a part of the funds for day-to-day purposes, but also set aside a sum to organize an International Congress to help the French and Belgian schools to survive during the war. Let’s hope that they will listen!
Tuesday, I spoke to the French War Relief, presided over by the extraordinary and famous friend of our cousins Jordan and Denis, Mrs. Cornelius Stevenson. I was confused when I realized that the lunch to which she had invited me afterwards wasn’t the modest snack I expected, but a delicious lunch of six courses, served in the smartest ladies club, and all that in honour of the old relationships of our families. One of the guests was the head of a Belgian fund, another presided over a Polish fund, a third, with a tragic expression, was introduced to me as the president of the “Ice Flotilla.” I wondered if it was some sort of fund for polar bears, but I soon curtailed my laughter when I was told that they had been three on the Titanic, her husband died, she was rescued, and her son, who she thought she had lost, was lifted more dead than alive onto a raft. Isn’t it surprising that she had no resentment against the iceberg, but that, quite to the contrary, she founded a fund that made and distributed ice for the ambulances at the Front in France!
Wednesday, the usual miscellaneous tasks, and in the afternoon a marvellous car trip to visit Miss Wood’s parents, and a friend of Tante Julia, a Mrs. Randolph, that despite her age would like to skewer the Kaiser. We followed the Delaware across an immense park, all exploding in flowering magnolias.
I made another nice trip on Thursday, starting from an area of splendid estates, and then at a Concord ladies place, talking “France” in the morning and stopping at 1 o’clock for a light lunch wherever we might be. I was promised something special at No 53 St Lazare Street. Sure enough, a lovely walk in the park, where I picked flowers, which made me wonder whether there were any left in what used to be the valleys and woods of Picardie and Flanders! Tuesday it was the turn of Bryn Mawr College, where I had a charming and youthful audience. Finally on Saturday my trip was almost finished. On Monday I attended a very interesting ceremony. A lunch for two hundred people, organized by thirteen famous artistic associations both social and philanthropic, to celebrate the seventieth birthday of Mrs. Cornelius Stevenson. There was a short but well chosen menu, served on some thirty tables, and speeches both touching and amusing, of which the most applauded was the toast of Prof. Lanson of the Sorbonne, who had been sent officially by the French ambassador to Washington. Presidents of several leading US universities that had oriental studies departments got up one after the other to make teasing comments about Mrs. Stevenson’s influence. They claimed that, through her teaching and her writing, they had been made to appreciate Babylon, and learn about the religion of the Egyptians! My seatmate was an uncle of Mr Paul Leyson, with whom I had a particularly pleasant conversation. During this charming party there was one small problem: a profusion of roses and hors d’oeuvres that was viewed by some as not being appropriate in wartime. The atmosphere as far as I was concerned was sophisticated, as compared to our poor Montreal with old-fashioned customs, where at banquets women were sent behind gallery fences, like a group of common prisoners. I loved this stay in Philadelphia, this town with its historical and slightly austere aroma, despite its luxury and its modern activities. But perhaps my best memory will be the welcome I had in Miss Wood’s large, private, and peaceful house. Miss Wood and Miss Cook send you their heartfelt messages, and I end, dear boys, by kissing you, and telling you how much I love you and congratulate you for your courage, you who work for “the Cause.”
Blanche
Dear absents,
Cards and letters written in a rush have kept my soldiers up to date on my spring journey to the United States, from which I returned today, 8 May. Thinking that a more detailed report of my trip might not only interest them, but also other correspondents to which it is impossible to write personally, I will make copies of this circular written by typewriter, in order to send a few beyond the trenches. I’m writing this rough draft in the night train that is bringing me from New York to Montreal.
The bank account to which I transfer some French war funds being empty, or almost so, I decided to accept the invitation of the McAll Mission to their annual meeting in Baltimore, and, as a result, my trip was prepaid, and it was convenient for me to stop on the way for my own collections.
The atmosphere was particularly joyful and peaceful on Easter Monday, and nothing would have suggested that our soldiers were taking part in a dreadful battle.
Jacques had joined me and we spent the weekend with our cousins in Larchmont, on the banks of the Sound. Jacques couldn’t wait to see New York, and five days weren’t enough to wander around it in every direction. We were particularly intrigued by Billy Sunday. You may be curious to know about my impression of this evangelistic clown. Actually, I’m not sure if I admired more this man’s enterprising spirit or the aura that he creates. For a revival campaign of three months, he built a huge auditorium, able to sit twenty-three thousand people with a chorus of several thousand voices. But I was even more surprised and a little scandalized when I witnessed the whole auditorium bursting with laughter, repeated and provoked by his jokes, or clapping with all their might as Billy screamed and did his damnedest to run down the sins of New York. There are surely in this big city some huge gulfs requiring some extraordinary remedies, which aren’t to everybody’s taste.
The United States declared war four days before our arrival. Did we notice anything special in New York? Hardly, except for the quantities of hats, and by the recruitment tents at every crossroad. The common folk are indifferent, while the leaders are tense and silent.
I had all kinds of interesting experiences in the city of the Quakers. I was impressed with the unity of these people. Despite the traumas that they faced, there seemed to be a strong sense of harmony between the young and the old. After ten days spent in Philadelphia in a friendly home and a pleasant environment, it wasn’t without apprehension that I took the train for the capital, where I would have to carve my own way amid strangers.
Washington is not governed by its citizens, but by three commissioners selected by the president. Jacques remembers seeing one at the Cap à l’Aigle church. The Andersons gave me an introduction, and Madame Commissioner McFarland offered me a drawing-room meeting in a house so ordinary that it was evident that its owner hadn’t enriched herself dishonestly by her important position. She is a member of the Covenant Church, where I had the privilege to speak twice: in total, five meetings in seven days.
Having seen at a distance the parade given for the visiting French delegation on the 27th, I decided the next day to walk over to the French Embassy. Just as I got there, a car did a U-turn to enter the gates, and I waved my handkerchief so frenetically that the Maréchal saluted me with a big smile that illuminated his large handsome face. One day, when grandchildren are climbing on my knees, they will be able to say: “He saluted you, grandmother. He saluted you.”
After having seen Joffre, the other attractions weren’t very exciting, and in any case I was short of time to visit official buildings and museums. However, I allowed myself to be lifted by elevator within the interior of the monument that rises five hundred feet up from the pavement, from where there is a splendid view, and then I spent a few hours in the House of Representatives to hear a hot debate between the partisans of voluntarism and conscription.
“We want volunteers. George Washington was a volunteer, Abraham Lincoln had been a volunteer, while the two thieves were there by coercion.”
“Yet another reason to have an obligatory service,” screamed another. “We don’t allow for the elite of the Nation to be killed, to save the cowards and those in cushy positions.”
You know that it was this last opinion that prevailed!
Having arrived in Washington with apprehension, I left the capital with regret. My rooming house was very comfortable, the weather fresh and beautiful, the greenery and flowers superb, and the population so welcoming. I was particularly happy to celebrate with these great allies, and it renewed my courage at a time when the complications in Russia, and the enormous sacrifices of the Franco-British advance, worried me enormously. The night of 29 April was particularly frightening, and then the next day, the telegram from Jean announcing that Etienne was wounded again. I hope that some entirely reassuring news will soon show us that, after the first shock, we were right to be comfortable that our lieutenant had escaped from a greater danger, and was resting comfortably between two white sheets in a good hospital. But how hard it is to be so far away from our wounded!
Baltimore was my last stop. I was to participate in the annual meeting of the McAll Mission, and to extend my visit for a few days in order to tend to my small business. My quarters couldn’t have been more pleasant: A beautiful house of the region, occupied by three Fowler sisters, descendants of an admiral of the French Fleet who accompanied Lafayette. I was reminded of my connection with this aristocratic ancestor, who is so much admired currently! But with all that, what magnificent hospitality, what perfect courtesy, reflecting a breed filled with intelligence, character, and piety.
Despite its Anglo ring, McAll is basically a French charity. There were numerous, reports, speeches, discussions, all reflecting the renewed interest in France brought by the political events. Two Frenchmen began to talk. Mr Marcel Knecht, an English professor at the Lycée de Nancy, who accompanied the Joffre-Viviani group as an interpreter, spoke briefly, followed by a young Arts graduate called Alcide Picard. If I understood properly, he was secretary of the Parliamentary Action Committee, represented in the United States by Honlacque. He is Protestant, has done eighteen months of war service, was repatriated for health reasons, and is to look after and organize the French courses that are to be given in the American recruitment camps. He read his New Testament every evening in the trenches, and this reading, which seemed mysterious to his comrades, constantly provoked some serious discussions. We need to tell Camille that the Colonials are tougher, but that one must continue to move forward without being discouraged.
I thought that what I had to say was pretty ordinary after the account of these real soldiers, but the fact that I spoke good English compensated for my lack of experience at the Front, and my listeners were very attentive and enthusiastic. Having repeated my stories frequently, I know when the applause will come! There’s the Marne Victory moment, there’s the one, a very long and healthy one, where they applaud the generosity and devotion of Switzerland, and to finish there’s the one where Tante Julia’s man from Lille finds his evacuated wife.
The highlight of these two days was the evening meeting, in a huge church crowded with those wishing to hear the famous Robert Speer. What a cool breeze when he begins by declaring that he doesn’t know either France or the French or their history. And then it slowly warms up, as he articulates with great gestures and describes France’s place in the past and at the present time, denying therefore his useless but very sincere introduction.
After these very full days I had a drawing-room meeting, and another in a ladies club. Finally, a day of well earned rest on Sunday, as I was worn out by these four weeks, complicated by a persistent cough that should have melted in the southern heat, if it had been a normal spring, but it was fires in the fireplaces and furs to go out. What a joy to finally head for Montreal on Monday 7 May, grateful for this excellent tour, but especially so happy to return home.
With respect to my funding, my readers would have thought that, with the enthusiasm for France that at this moment vibrates America, I would be bringing back a huge sum. But no, these good Americans with their huge enterprises are no doubt far greater donors to their charities than to the “Ami du Soldat.” However, my comments may give greater assistance to the Red Cross and to the National Security than to those that I represent. In any case, it isn’t the point, because Tante Julia receives regularly what she needs, and France benefits accordingly! I return with $1,000, which is my average for four weeks.
I continue this morning my letter begun last evening. Here is the St Lawrence, the smoke from Pointe St Charles, and Mont Royal in the distance. How I’m looking forward to taking up my duties at Les Colombettes, and to reading the letters that have no doubt arrived from Europe.
Blanche
THE NEXT SIX MONTHS weren’t particularly eventful, and then we faced the terrible news of Philippe’s death. Hurt by this great pain I wasn’t able to resume my travels for some time.
The seventh tour was the most important, as it lasted from May to July 1918. It was lengthened, because this time Dad and I left and returned together, going in the interval separately to some very amusing rendezvous. It was delightful for me to rediscover the charming environment of Baltimore, at Hampton at my friend Mrs. Purvis’s, at Richmond, where I tasted the charm of Virginia, at Philadelphia, at Haverford, where it’s so wonderful to see Juliana Wood again, at Chambersburg, where I met the hostess of Wilson College, at Clifton Springs where I indulged in a brief cure, and in Rochester where I was received by the famous and very rich Strong family. From there the embarkation on Lake Ontario, the rendezvous with my husband, the navigation on the St Lawrence, and the surprise arrival of Jacques. Finally, the return to La Clairière, and then to Montreal, where we devour the newspapers full of the most encouraging news about the advance of the Allies.—(BB)
THE SUMMER OF 1918 saw us all working to help finish the war. Your mother had resumed her conference work in the United States. Her presentation, “The Soul of France,” had become a classic. I had agreed to represent the Protestants of France in the United States. Decidedly we were making headway in all directions. I succeeded several French chaplains, who had been doing this work prior to leaving the country. My job was to awaken the French citizens living in the United States to the Allies’ enormous efforts. During three months, directed by the French High Commission in Washington, I toured the Mid-West, giving speeches in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Buffalo, Columbus, Cincinnati, Louisville, Indianapolis, as well as many smaller towns. I worked hard, and tried to be eloquent in English. I was told that I succeeded quite well; however it was clearly a temporary gift.—(CB)
