“My dear Jeannot,
What is this world coming to? The Nazis are everywhere, and France is occupied. What will become of two artists, two humble entertainers such as we? What will become of Jean and Jeannot, the two eternal lovers? France has been cloven in two, but she will not shatter; she will resist all this, I hope, as will our love. Jeannot, I love you more than anyone in the world, yet I have told myself I must love you like a father, and I wish for you to know that this is not because I love you less, but more. The Occupation has separated us, and Coco Chanel is consorting with a charming German officer. She has admitted as much to me. She had no choice in the matter, but Coco can look after herself. The forces of the Third Reich have taken up residence at the Ritz hotel on place Vendome. Every day the people of Paris are confronted with a cacophony of sound in the streets as the German soldiers parade, stomping their boots against the cobbles. It is a loud, cold, violent sound. My beloved Jeannot, I am so scared. I fear the suffering I shall endure should you fall in love with another, without wishing to hurt me. I adore you, I respect you and I worship you. But I fear that there have been misunderstandings between us, and that is why I write to you now from the very depths of my soul.
My Jeannot, I say again that you are everything to me. I believed in your potential, and in your talent, and my reward (one which brings me great comfort) is having brought you the glory of appearing on stage in Œdipe Roi. You are my lover. Even without lines you stole the show, and I hope that if you keep smoking your voice will soon be ready for the theatre. With time and practice, you shall master your stage voice. How beautiful you were in that play, wearing those strips of cloth Coco designed especially for you. That was when I fell in love with you. I’m mad about you. Don’t worry about her; all of Parisian high society whispers about my friendship with her, but Coco Chanel is my confidant, she keeps my secrets in spite of the public’s mockery. I know that you want to help me. Opium is a salve for me; it gives me energy and strength, and inspires me. You should not try it, for it means sinking into sluggishness forever, and you will depend on it forever more. My Jeannot, I cannot wait to see you again in the free zone, in all your glory and success.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen, if you had met someone your own age and were hiding them from me. If you were holding back from loving them for fear of disappointing me, I would blame myself for the rest of my days. I would prefer to sacrifice a portion of my own happiness in order to retain your trust. I would prefer you to feel freer than you would with a parent. No doubt you have guessed my qualms and my worries. You’re a bright lad, and you don’t miss much. I simply wanted to explain my attitude so that you do not think for even one second that there lingers even the hint of a shadow over our relationship. I swear to you that I am proper and upstanding enough to carry no jealousy, and to require myself to live in accordance with the heaven we have prayed for. This heaven has given us so much that it would surely be wrong to ask for more. I believe that all sacrifices are repaid, so do not rebuke me, my beautiful angel. I know by the way you look at me that you see there are none who love you as I do – and yet I would be ashamed to place even the slightest obstacle upon the sunlit path that extends before you. My Jeannot, adore me as I adore you, and console me. Hold me close to your heart. Help me to be a saint, and to be worthy of us, for I live only by your leave.
When will this phony war end? When last we spoke, Coco Chanel told me she was happy. The German officer has swept her off her feet; he is madly in love with her, as I am so madly in love with you. And yet I fear the repercussions of you finding a young man of your own age. This is the purpose of my letter; I hope to see you soon in a free land.
All my love,
Jean.”
Alan Alfredo Geday
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