A Letter from Paris
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Title
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A Letter from Paris
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Date
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March 1939
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volume
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4
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issue
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2
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page start
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12
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page end
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12
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content
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en
A Letter From Paris
December 5, 1938
Dear J—:
Over here, between crises of one kind and another, I have been working fairly regularly at the Cercle Hoche. But I must say I have been sadly disappointed by the state of French fencing.
There are a lot of businessmen fencers, who use neither their hands nor their legs well but get a lot of fun out of it; a few younger fellows, whose hands are fast but legs weak, and a very few who seem to be able to make their hands and legs work together.
Everyone uses the epee, a few the foil, and no one the saber.
The maîtres tell me there is only one strong foilsman in France, Edward Gardère, and he has passed his peak, while Italy has at least four, including Marzi, who are faster than he is. I saw the France-Italy match last year and didn't think much either of the Italians. Marzi has gained weight, although he is still good, but the left-hander who beat him in the European championships—Guaragna, I think is the name—lacks perfect technique and falls frequently. They know very little here about American fencing, but I really don't see why you can't win the Olympics, or at least beat the French in 1940.
The coaching here is magnificent. We have six maîtres at the Cercle Hoche, everyone a wizard. I have been working with an Auvergnat named Ayat who insists on strict attention to form. Then, when I want to get a little more amusement out of it, there is another named Surget, who acts as a sort of master of ceremonies and arranges bouts. It might please R— to hear that Ayat says it is evident I have been well-trained and know how to take a lesson properly.
As for the major competitions, I had neither the time nor the training for them last year. This year, since the September crisis, I have been able to fence three and four times a week, and they tell me that after another month of hard labor, I should be able to make a respectable showing. If nothing happens between now and then to break up my routine, I'll take a fling at it next month.
One of the things that has amazed me here is that all the maîtres insist on working once in a while with the left hand. I had never tried it before and nearly broke my left leg lunging the first time. Their theory is that unless you work with both hands, you become physically unbalanced. My own idea is that they do it because the French don't really train, as we do, and therefore rest the right side by working on the left. I try to get out of fencing with my left as much as possible, but they get aghast when I start to sweat.
They tell me there is another American at the Cercle Hoche, Coudere by name, I believe, who is the American international delegate. You probably know him very well, and they say he comes to the Cercle quite regularly evenings. Since I have to work at odd hours of the day, I haven't yet met him. There is an Argentine, Huergo, fairly strong, with whom I work often, and a number of young Frenchmen, none of them notable.
This has turned out to be quite a long dissertation, and I haven't said anything about my professional labors, which have been ducking bombs for a couple of months last summer in Barcelona and worrying about war or peace last fall in Paris, but all that has been in the papers. I do hope I haven't bored you, and if you have time to write, I'd like to hear from you.
Yours,
H—
