Gaylondsville, Conn. U.S.A.

July 21, 1944

My dear friend Theodore:

We were delighted beyond words to receive your letter of
May 17(½!) which was so moving and so charming, and which, though
written under circumstances drastically changed and depressing,
fully recalled the Theodore of old times who used to laugh at
everything--or rather, more exactly, *ricaner* at everything and
at all men. I have always thought of you as one of five or six men
I have met in this world with whom, after a separation of ten or
more years, I could resume a conversation and friendship exactly
at the point where we were last interrupted, without difficulty and
with as little boredom as ever before. From time to time I meet
mutual friends, Shipman, who still considers you a brother(a tank
division instructor now, and quite happy); Masson, still closer,
often speaking of you, and missing you severely; finally this year
Soupault, the same old Soupault. In our garden at Gaylondsville
where the Massons came to join us, we finally made Philippe take some
strong American drinks and he launched himself upon a long and eloquent
conference on the subject of T.F. which we could hardly stop. He
was reminiscing as an enthusiastic collector of Franekliana. (We all
wish you could come for two weeks at least to ricaner at the doings
of the orthodox, professional surrealistes in New York, whom I still
oppose in principle, though I would not bother to make war upon them.)

to write

I wanted/and should written you long before this, after hearing
of your escape from Vichy-France. But you remember the saying of
Rimbaud about la main a la machine a ecrire ne vaut que la main a la
charnue--all too true. For many years I have worked like a plough-horse,
which gives me the illusion of being active and saves me from growing
tired of myself. We all have something of the naive idea of being
useful, a little bit, if only by disseminating words and information.

2

Meanwhile I have grown old and deaf (it is very different with Hannah). Eric is a giant of six feet, and twice as broad as I, a handsome blond of 19; stationed with the U.S. Air Force ground crew, as a technical man in England, since last January, 1944.

He has a fine brother of 15, who resembles me physically and writes good poems and stories, while helping to care for the gardens here.

Your letter shows that even you could not escape the collective vortex that was developing in old Europe. Will France ever be the same? I sometimes play with the idea of returning this fall or winter to Europe for three or six months, for a journalistic assignment./The post-war picture ought to be as worthy of serious study as it may be tragic. We count on an early end of the European war, later this summer or this autumn. I am working at the moment on a long book of Stendhal, a project of many years, but form some time back I have also mingled journalism, for magazines, with my literary and historical work. On such work I traveled 8,000 miles last year outside the U.S. and in, by airplane in a few weeks.

So I may suddenly turn up again and ask for you.

I have the feeling that you will soon return to France, if not already when you receive this. We hope that you will find your people in good shape. (Yesterday came the news that Hitler was wounded by a bomb.) The week that the Soupaults and Mssrs. visited us was that of the Anglo-American invasion of Normandy. Both Frenchmen mourned the destruction, wondered if it would be wise to return at an early date to France. Then they began to talk of the cheeses inf Normandy; they were excited, passionate, recalled the smells. Each boasted of knowing bigger and better cheeses. Thus I knew that they would return as fast as their legs could carry them. Write us again. I have heard of your distinguished war services like the brave man I knew you were. My warmest compliments and fervent good wishes.

As ever,

Theodore Fraenkel, Dr. of Medicine. B. ca. 1896, in Russia, came to France as a child, naturalized as French citizen, studied at medical school of U. of Paris, with André Breton; served in two wars as medical officer. Rank Commissioned major, and croix-de guerre, following the Battle of France. In 1940 he treated the wounded for three weeks without sleep. came out with white hair.

Esca; ped to Africa, joined De Gaulle, served as medical officer of the De Gaulle Air Force sent to Russia for one year. Practiced in Paris, as the physician of many eminent writers and artists of his time. Died in (ca.) 1965. Well known to American colony in Paris, whom he treated.

In 1919 and thru the 20's he was associated with the Dada movement as friend of Breton, Aragon, Tzara, and their intellectual peer. A brilliant mind that, could have been a writer's or philosopher's, turned to the medical profession. The wit and humor of the "mysterious Dr. Fraenkel" was widely appreciated--expressed in occasional written aphorisms, or in improvisations and pranks-and Breton admired the "ricanement froid" of T. Fraenkel. ("Stendhalian")

I had written him during the war asking him saying I had heard of his wartime services, and wanderings, asking him if he needed help, some money? Had he not become involved and did he still have his humorous detachment? His reply (1/12/45) is an example of his fine power of expression. And, with thanks, refused money,