Letters to Sartre

by Simone de Beauvoir

  Goodbye, dear little being — I’ll be on the platform on Saturday, or at the buffet if you don’t see me on the platform. I’d like to spend long weeks alone with you. A big kiss.

  Your Beaver

  [Marseilles]

  Saturday [September 1938]

  Your own self, my love,

  I’ve just called at the post office, but found no wire — I’ll call back again. The afternoon papers aren’t out yet, and I’m impatient and pretty gloomy.30 When you’re there., I can’t be really worried. But all day yesterday, and now, I can feel the full weight of it; and it seems odd to be here, far away from Paris and you, not knowing if I’m going to stay or leave, not knowing what you think, not knowing anything. I live in expectation — and in a fog — and feel as though I’d left you centuries ago.

  The weather’s fine here, we could lead a delightful life. Kosakiewitch has a really pleasing room, a sixth-floor with balcony over the Old Port. From the bed you can see all the little boats, the water and the lights, and you feel as though you’re sleeping right in the street. There’s a little sink and a stove for doing the cooking, and when you eat there with the window open you can believe yourself on the terrace of some palace. On Thursday evening we didn’t have dinner there but at the Cascade — indoors, because it was a bit cold. I had the most delicious fish soup, followed by grilled bass. Afterwards we went to the Cintra and to Charley’s, and we didn’t get home till about 2. I was in a good mood and happy. We talked for a long time that evening, and again in the morning after waking up very early, but I’ve so much sleep in reserve that I wasn’t tired. When we came down at noon to have lunch at Charley’s, we saw the papers, which were gloomy. We went for a long walk round Marseilles, by way of the Prado and the Corniche, then came back to drink in little cafes, have dinner in K.’s room, and spend the evening on the balcony — where I interested K. tremendously talking to her about the Arabs. I slept well, then this morning we were up and about by 9 and went for a stroll in the streets round the Old Port and near the Porte d’Aix. We had lunch — K. made me a scrumptious omelette — and we’re now taking coffee in a bistro that’s allegedly full of criminal types — it certainly looks that way.

  All this strikes me as dreadfully contingent, and I can feel time passing never-endingly.

  My beloved, I have your wire — so we’re leaving. I’m amazed, since I understood things were going very badly. Summon me back at once if things do become worrying, I beg of you. It doesn’t seem at all the same as when I was with you. When I’m with you, nothing seems terrible to me, not even leaving you. But away from you, the slightest fear is unbearable. I love you passionately — I’m empty and miserable without you. K. has been very sweet, and the first evening I was touched by seeing her again — but already she bores and rather irritates me, and her presence at this moment strikes me as absurd. Write to me immediately at the addresses provided. I love you, with a touch of tragedy and quite madly.

  Your Beaver

  1939

  [Paris]

  Monday morning [3 July 1939]

  Most dear little being,

  I just caught sight of a great, green shape snatching you up, so I stepped back hastily. I think I caught sight of The Step-father too.31 It was heart-rending to see them with my own eyes taking delivery of you, my pet, and I wandered about the platform for a moment, disconcerted and desolate. Then I left and went down towards Gien, which is a real take-in. As you must have discerned there was a village fete in progress, which was like an insult. I climbed to the castle, walked to the end of the Quai — in a quarter of an hour I’d done it all and was finding the hole unbearable. I went back to the station buffet and began reading the N.R.F.,32 which I finished on the train. I’ll send it you in a little while. Clara Malraux’s article is amazing. It’s distressing enough that a person should think such things, but to write them down and have them published is really beyond my comprehension — she comes out as the most complete nitwit, by her own admission. The little seduction story is side-splitting. All in all, I had almost enough to keep me amused as far as Paris. I raced to the hotel and found a message from Kos., suggesting a meeting at the Café de Flore. I hope they didn’t say on the telephone that I’d left with you; at all events, she didn’t breathe a word to me about it during the evening. At first she was cool, but I think that’s because I’d been away for the whole week — and nothing to do with the circumstances of my return — since in the end she became charming. We stayed on for a while at the Flore. Her audition went well, but Dullin33 — who had a train to catch — didn’t make any detailed comments. When each audition ended, he simply said: ‘bad scene’, or ‘good scene’, or Very good scene’ — and for Kos. he said Very good scene’. The wretched Delarue was stopped in the middle of his.34 In the evening, they all went on a junket together — at a girl friend of Madeleine Robinson’s place.35 It was a drunken orgy, at which everybody was smooching with everybody else and Delarue kissed Kos. — but he was so tipsy he couldn’t remember next day, he just had a vague, dreadful impression of having behaved badly. She was tight too, but in control of herself, and she really flabbergasted me by saying haughtily: ‘I can’t understand how it is that when people are drunk, they smooch with just anybody; you can always behave properly if you want to’ — this in naive disgust at the notion of any kind of abandon while under the influence. We went and had dinner in a little restaurant in Rue St Benoit, where everybody from the Café de Flore meets and you can eat very well without spending much — and which is not disagreeable. Then we spent a long time at an outside table at the Deux Magots. It was a lovely little evening, one on which I’d have been so happy with you, beloved little being. I got home at one and rose at seven, which means I am in fact feeling tired today. At the moment I’m supervising a fourth-year exam, and after that I’ve hundreds of things to do: ring Davy,36 see Bienenfeld, have lunch with Poupette,37 see That Lady if possible, come back to school at 5 for a staff meeting, and meet up with Kos. for a long evening. I feel a bit overwhelmed. The weather’s extremely beautiful, and seeing that I can’t be [with] you I’d like to be entirely alone and have nothing to do. But above all I wish you were here. I fell asleep and awoke in anguish at your leaving. I loved you so much in that little train yesterday. You’re so nice, you know, dearest little being — you’re far more than quite nice, you’re the nicest of little men, and I’m so happy with you. But I can’t wait to have you to myself for days on end, as will soon be the case.

  Do write to me — go on writing to Paris, as I’ll be back here anyway on Friday, Look, is it impossible for me to tell Kos., if the case arises, that I’m going to spend Saturday-Sunday with you? Just Saturday-Sunday, Wanda38 couldn’t surely be angry about that, and it would give me an excellent alibi: Wednesday-Thursday La Pouèze,39 then back to Paris, then two days seeing you. It’s also quite possible that I’ll have no need to, and in any case I can manage things differently if it bothers you too much. But let me know immediately about this, please — I’d like your reply by Wednesday morning. I’m afraid Kos. has not the least desire to leave before 14 July — but I won’t give her much money.

  Goodbye, my love, I’ll write to you tomorrow. I love you quite passionately — and with a touch of tragedy — poor little prisoner, all out of reach. Till Tuesday, my love. We’ll spend a huge evening, perhaps we won’t go to bed all night, if the weather’s still as fine. I kiss your dear little face all over. I love you, my beloved.

  Your charming Beaver

  I’m no longer disfigured at all.

  Envelope:

  Monsieur Sartre

  Poste Restante

  St Sauveur en Puisaye,

  Yonne.*

  Brasserie Lumina

  76 Rue de Rennes

  Paris

  Wednesday [5 July 1939]

  The first page of this letter must be torn up at once, because otherwise you’ll forget.

  I’m telling Kos. that I’ll be staying at La Pouèze till Monday.
No point in saying I’m at St Fargeau, etc. I won’t come back on the Friday, as I’m only leaving tomorrow. I’m telling Bienenfeld too that I’m at La Pouèze.40

  Most dear little being,

  I miss you. I’ve received all your little letters safely, and you’re very sweet to have been such a good correspondent. But it really grieves me to feel you so glum, there far away, and to be glum myself here. I’ve just received a blow: I went to see the tax people, and they’re demanding 2,400 francs from me. I’ll check whether it’s really true, and appeal if need be. How much have you paid, for instance? I think I’d be allowed to pay just half now, and the rest when school reopens — but it’s still rotten. Moreover, Gégé’s41 asking for her dough — 1,200 francs — though that’s something you ought to take care of. For my part I’ve had to give some dough to Kos., who’s finally leaving on Saturday, and pay some bills — to the dentist, and for books — but I’ll just survive till Wednesday. There you are! It’s none too brilliant, and I’m sorry to start off with all this — but it’s casting a gloom over my own mood. I’m so longing to go off on an agreeable journey with you — just you — and see things. There’s no question of Norway — it’s more expensive than Holland, and they tell me no French person will set foot there this year. I thought we might spend a week in the Pyrenees, getting about by P.L.M. buses,42 then take ship at Bordeaux for a few weeks in Portugal? Let me know quickly what you think — my nerves are really jangling. I’m leaving tomorrow for Amiens, where I think I’ll stay till Monday morning, so write me there poste restante. Little Bost is off to the Ardennes on the 13th, and doesn’t get a long leave — it’s rotten.

  I’ll tell you how I’ve been living. On Monday, I spent a pretty godawful day. I saw some tedious pupils in the morning, after writing to you while supervising an essay. Then I went to That Lady’s,43 to pay my respects for an hour or so and ask her to give me an alibi. She was charming, but glum because Mops44 wants to go with her to Cavallo and is giving her no respite. ‘You’ve got some idea in your head, going off alone with Geneviève’, says Mops, ‘you’ve certainly got some idea in your head.’ She’s sulking, because That Lady’s going off to La Pouèze and leaving her on her own with her husband. That Lady and Zuorro45 had been at the Escadrille, and found it moderately charming. But they hadn’t found anything to eat there — it had been completely empty and they’d got the impression they weren’t wanted. Zuorro had been quite nice, though still a bit out of sorts.

  After that I went and saw Poupette, and had lunch with her at the Italian place. We ate outside — it was moderately agreeable. Then we went for a walk through Paris, along the river towards Palais Royal. She’s really het up about Lionel,46 whose glands turn out to be tubercular and who’s totally downcast. We must go there next week. Perhaps I’ll be a martyr and go there on Monday, before your return. She spoke laughingly to me about the mysterious way Wanda’s dropping hints about ‘a holiday in the Midi’, and also about how Wanda tried to hide from her the fact that you’d come with her and Mouloudji47 — which explains Poupette’s comment: ‘I thought I recognized Sartre’s handiwork’. She talked to me about Gégé, who’s beginning to drive Pardo up the wall. She was rather sweet and nice. The Boubous48 are spending their holidays at Cagnes, 10 km. from Juan-les-Pins,49 and are counting on seeing us. They’re pestering us. I dropped in to Nordisk Travel with her — you know already what they told me. Then I went off by Métro to see Bienenfeld, but scarcely did see her, since she was almost as exhausted as the evening before (she’s fine now). I left her and went on to school, where there was a meeting. I also rang Davy, whom I’ll see next week. And in the midst of all this I forgot to send you the N.R.F., poor little fellow, I’m really ashamed. I’ll send it off straight away, with a Claudel that has just arrived. At 7 I met Kos. in Montmartre. We spent an extremely agreeable evening, with a whole series of charming episodes. I think I’ll actually tell you all about it in person on Tuesday, since it would take me three hours. Basically, we traipsed around until about 11.30, having drinks at Place du Tertre and Chez Graff. We passed by the Escadrille several times, but at 9 they wouldn’t even let us in the door, while at 11 it was so deserted it was intimidating. So we went to the Ange Rouge (that dancehall full of pimps and Corsicans, where people fire off revolvers), and it was marvellous there. Some fellows quite seriously propositioned us for a grand orgy. They even brought along a beautiful woman to entice us, and above all — due to a misunderstanding — got the idea that K. took drugs, so they brought along a frightful-looking fellow who offered her heroin and coke, and haggled with her for ages, and even showed her little packets: we were ever so flattered. After we left there, there was a tiny but very funny episode with a Negro, and also some gorgeous fellows in a motor tried to pick us up. To top it all off, we were at the swing club until 4.30 in the morning; they have wonderful jazz records, and it’s the most agreeable place. Rue Pigalle was charming before dawn. We walked for a while, and I took a taxi to get home to bed. Kos. was extremely nice, she’s on the best of terms with me.

  I slept till 1, and at 2 went to meet Sorokine at the Dôme.50 I had a coffee and a talk with her — she’s really nice, but really pitiful. I think I’ll send her to the Limousin for her vacation, to La Grillère.51 I promised to devote my whole evening to her on Monday. She went with me to the clinic, where I stayed for an hour and a half. Bienenfeld was well and very sweet, but her mother stuck like a burr — she did it deliberately, out of spite. When her father and sister showed up, I got the hell out — and arrived at the Flore a bit late. But I made a few jokes about Bienenfeld, which went down very well Kos. was tired, and sad because of Bost and going away — but very amiable. She took the fact that I was going to La Pouèze very well. We dined in Rue St-Benoit, where you can eat sumptuously for practically nothing, and it’s agreeable too — I’ll take you there this week. Then we came back to sit outside at the Flore, and finally walked across Paris to the Madeleine. It was a really lovely evening, with a fat orange moon in the sky, a bit of a breeze, and the odd cloud: crossing the Seine and Louvre was so agreeable that it was affecting. Kos. and I had a serious chat — about herself, about her life, and about life in general. She told me once again that she found mine dreadfully austere. We’d never been so intimate, and at the time I almost believed her. I went home (prudently, by Métro: Monday evening apart I’m being very frugal) and so to bed. This morning I received your second letter, and a note from that woman wanting her suitcase. I went to Neuilly to see Bienenfeld, who firmly showed her mother the door so I did see her for a while on her own. I gave her your letter. I’m going back to see her now, and I’ll try to go again tomorrow for a moment before leaving.

  I’ve just had lunch at my mother’s, then been to see the tax people. This evening I’m seeing Kos. again, to say goodbye.

  I feel odd. There’s a tremendous atmosphere of year’s end. It’s not entirely disagreeable. But I miss you to the point of anguish. I’d like to see you and have you to myself — just to myself — for a long, long while. Do come back quickly, sweet little being. Let me know when you’re getting back on Tuesday. I’m just going to ring Pasteur,52 and I’ll put the information in a postscript. I love you, dear little being, I love you quite passionately and kiss and hug you

  Your charming Beaver

  The prize-giving is on the 12th, at 3 o’clock.

  [Amiens]

  Thursday [6 July 1939]

  Most dear little being,

  I’m writing to you from the Amiens train and don’t have any ink in my fountain-pen, but this pencil seems quite decent. I’ve just received your little letter, and I’m very touched by it. You’re the best little man in the world, and I too will write to you every day. I’m in the dumps. I haven’t had enough sleep these last few days and I’m worn out. Also, I’ve received a first tax demand — without allowances — and the amount really is 2,400 F. And yesterday Kos. asked me unexpectedly for 300 F. — for debts and rent. It’s really getting me down.
Bienenfeld was sad I was leaving, and I feel a bit remorseful. Kos. talked to me at length about Bost, and though I don’t feel any remorse so far as she’s concerned, I do have a sense of superficiality and guile, that will melt away when I see Bost but that deprives me of all pleasure in leaving. At this moment I’d like to see you and only you. Everything’s so full, so necessary, and so happy, with you — your self — my true life. Come back soon. Just look at me! I’m quite overcome when I think about seeing your little face again on Tuesday.