Paris 1935: Destiny's Crossroads

by Paul A. Myers

The Booksellers

  Saturday, August 11. Dexter sat at a small round table deep in the shade of the terrasse of Les Deux Magots and watched the bustling Saturday crowd out on boulevard Saint-Germaine, the slanting sunlight of early evening putting the people into bright and lively relief. He watched as Marcelle came down the stone sidewalk scanning the tables looking for him. He waved a hand and her face brightened in recognition. She walked over. Dexter admired the light blue blouse and the fashionable navy blue skirt, a wide brown leather belt separating the two blues. Below the wing of her collar was the discreet black ribbon of the deuil. He stood and held her chair as she sat down.

  “Thank you for inviting me. I am looking forward to this. It has been a long week.”

  Dexter looked at her sympathetically. “I followed the events at the Quai d’Orsay in the newspapers. Were you there till midnight?”

  Marcelle nodded, then added, “And up early the next morning to organize documents for the conference with the prefects. They were almost all there.”

  Dexter said thoughtfully, “Yes, I saw that the prefects from Brest and Toulon had to stay at their posts and deal with riots. The workers themselves are not going quietly into Laval’s age of austerity even if the union bosses in Paris are agreeable to the government program.”

  Marcelle replied simply, “Saving the franc was the charge the Chamber of Deputies gave to Premier Laval in June. That is his heavy task.”

  Dexter agreed. “Yes, he has done this better than almost all observers thought possible. If he succeeds, which seems likely, he will have proven himself the great servant of France.”

  Marcelle smiled a small thank you at Dexter.

  Dexter moved to change the subject. “I thought we would start at La Maison des Amis des Livres, Adrienne’s bookshop. I gather you already know it.”

  “Oh yes, both Suzanne and I belong to her lending library. We attend readings there when we can.”

  Dexter continued, “Afterwards I thought we would cross the street to Sylvia Beach’s Shakespeare and Company. I’m told there will be a lively crowd there tonight.”

  A waiter brought a second wine glass and set it in front of Marcelle and poured some chilled white wine into the glass from the bottle already sitting in an iced bucket on the table.

  Dexter added superfluously, “For you.”

  Marcelle took a sip of wine from the glass and looked inquiringly at Dexter. “And?”

  Dexter continued, “Are you interested in English and American literature?”

  Marcelle looked thoughtful for a minute. “Why yes. But I have been reading most of it in French translation. Adrienne has a superb collection. Both Suzanne and I want to tackle some of it in English, though. We will have our own little reading club. So we have planned to join Miss Beach’s library.”

  Dexter finished his wine and said, “We better be going.”

  “Yes, of course,” and Marcelle rose to stand as Dexter held her chair for her.

  Turning up rue de l’Odeon in the falling light of evening, Dexter could see the front door and lights on at La Maison des Amis des Livres. Across the street, people were going in and out of Shakespeare and Company, several people engaged in lively discussion in front of the brightly lit store, the yellow light from inside falling in pools on the sidewalk outside.

  Dexter held the door open and Marcelle entered La Maison and walked towards the center of the store. Adrienne Monnier saw her, stopped talking to her assistant, and came forward smiling. Seeing Dexter, she widened her smile further. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  Turning to Marcelle she asked, “Is Suzanne going to be with you tonight?”

  “No. She is with Étienne tonight.”

  Looking inquiringly at Marcelle, Adrienne asked, “And you know our good friend Dexter?”

  “Yes, he escorted Suzanne and me to the Writers Conference. We saw André Malraux give his closing speech. Afterwards over tea we found out we all had a shared interest in your bookshop.” She turned and looked coyly at Dexter and remarked, “And since then we have shared some political discussions.”

  Adrienne beamed. “Yes, Dexter knows politics.” Then she added in a hurried tone, “We better close up and cross the street.” Adrienne said some words to her assistant and then ushered Dexter and Marcelle towards the door.

  The three of them crossed the street and pushed through the door heading towards the rear of the shop and a large wooden table that served as the headquarters for the bookshop. Behind the table pasted on a wall between ceiling-high bookshelves was a poster proclaiming “The Scandal of Ulysses,” the iconic book classic that Sylvia Beach had daringly published in the early 1920s. Standing by the table was Sylvia with brushed-back dark hair, touched with gray here and there, a white collared blouse, and a neat little suit coat over a plain longish skirt. She looked something like what Marcelle imagined a New England librarian to look like.

  Sylvia looked up and recognized Dexter, breaking into a wide smile. “Dexter!” She looked at Marcelle, a little skeptically Marcelle thought, and then looked to Adrienne for explanation.

  Adrienne gave a warm introduction. “Sylvia, this is Marcelle Lambert. She is the friend of Suzanne Bardoux’s that I told you about. Like Suzanne, she is a redactrice at a government ministry.” Adrienne looked at Marcelle for confirmation. “Correct?”

  Marcelle cheerfully responded, the vagueness of the description pleasing to her, “Yes.”

  Sylvia’s countenance relaxed and she held out her hand to Marcelle. As Marcelle shook the outstretched hand, Sylvia clapped her other hand over Marcelle’s in welcoming friendship. Marcelle beamed. Sylvia said, “Yes, Suzanne works for our good friend Alexis Léger, but of course we know him as the poet Saint-John Perse.” Sylvia made a small laugh. “But now his diplomatic career consumes all his time, if not his talents,” and she frowned.

  Sylvia turned to Dexter. “Alexis is one small ray of hope in a darkening international situation.”

  Dexter quickly agreed, “Certainly. He is the most realistic of, shall we say, the idealists. A master of the language of diplomacy.”

  Adrienne picked up on the point and added, somewhat confessionally, “Speaking of language, Suzanne told me that Marcelle is regarded as having one of the most economical and precise commands of French in the government ministries.”

  Dexter’s whole countenance quickly sharpened as the correctness of this fresh remark sank in. Of course, he thought.

  Marcelle smiled with humility but inwardly she was taken aback at this revelation from her closest friend circulating at what was almost an American cocktail party, one of the most indiscreet inventions of the modern era.

  Sylvia noticed the deep reservoir of reserve behind the mask of Marcelle’s pleasant demeanor.

  Sylvia turned to Marcelle and asked a touch sardonically, “You know Dexter?”

  “Why yes, he escorted Suzanne and me to the Writers Conference to hear André Malraux give the closing address.”

  Sylvia glanced sidewise at Dexter and then said to Marcelle, “Well, at least you have discriminating taste in Americans,” and she laughed, “it is not always that way. With either French women or American men.”

  Marcelle smiled in appreciation and Sylvia caught Marcelle’s assured look that said that the smooth handling of men was one of her talents. Sylvia looked a little more appraisingly at Dexter. Something more than a Saturday night adventure, she thought.

  Dexter moved to lighten the conversation. “Suzanne jokes that Marcelle has not crossed the street from Adrienne’s because she is afraid her friends at the ministry might think she is sneaking looks at dirty books.”

  Sylvia laughed. “Ulysses is about life, which always has it raw features. So the United States Post Office kept seizing it in the 1920s,” and laughed while thinking back at the banality of the Great Protestant Republic’s efforts at cultural control.

  Marcelle caught her mood and mischievously asked Dexter, “As a representative of your government,
why do you use the Post Office as a culture ministry.”

  Dexter easily answered, “We don’t always. Sometimes we use the Customs Service.”

  Sylvia and Adrienne doubled over with laughter. Marcelle good-naturedly joined in. Marcelle said in an aside to the two women, “I am just testing his diplomatic skills.”

  Dexter gave a small bow from the waist.