SARTRE (Jean-Paul) - Lot 206

SARTRE (Jean-Paul) Born in Paris. 1905-1980. Writer, playwright and philosopher. Major figure in French intellectual life in the 1960s. L.A.S. "J.P. Sartre" to "Ma douce petite Wanda" [Miss Wanda Kosakiewicz]. S.l., [Brumath, Alsace], s.d. [1940]. 6 pages 1/4 small in-8 on graph paper. SUPERB LETTER TO HER LADY DURING THE DRÔLE DE GUERRE...There was nothing from you yesterday, but I'm sure the fault lies with the Post Office... remarks Sartre, who isn't worried though. ...It seems to me that if you ever shut up for a day or two (but don't think you're being encouraged to do so), it won't make me feel the same at all, because I've seen you more than once, bewitched and trying to get out of your little cage of mist and not succeeding [...] and I imagine, now, [...] when you're not writing [...] yet you're not cut off from me. You know, I'm all rich with you, all this time, inexhaustibly rich, you're always with me, I never leave you and you too my love, you're my wonderful love. I wish I could explain to you how everything in this city is transformed, lighter and less present. It's like a poetic step back in time... The night before, at the restaurant, he got a little drunk, ...Not much, just a little. I couldn't really tell you why, but I felt like I was losing my mind inside you. I imagined that it would be the coffee and Pieter [soldier Pieterkovski] who would thin out to transparency, and that you would remain all against me, heavy and opaque like a presence. It happened: I was alone with you, violently alone. And I thought of everything you'd told me at Normandy [...]. And I thought how wonderfully romantic and moving you were. I also understood that there was now and forever something completely thawed inside me, a distrust of old that still remained from the story with Olga [Wanda's sister, with whom Sartre was in love] and from our first relationship to you and to me. [...]. And then we left and Pieter took me to his washerwoman's; he brought chocolates to the washerwoman's kid, he talked, they thanked him, it felt extraordinary to be there, among those people, I was completely out of place, but it wasn't unpleasant, it was rather strong. [...] I'd so like you to paint [Wanda wanted to be an artist], my sweet little Wanda, I hope the Beaver [Simone de Beauvoir] gave you your penny. You make me so fragile. You said I was the only one who didn't treat you with cold baths when you were nervous. I take your nervousness very seriously. [...]. I would so much like to be close to you, like when you fall asleep in my arms, to numb this anguish for a while [...]. I'm a bit worried because if there's nothing in the mail today, we'll have to wait two days. We're leaving tomorrow at dawn, to do firing exercises 20 kilometers from here, and we're going to do some sounding. There's nothing unpleasant about that in itself, I'll see some country and hear the cannons thunder. But it's like being away from you for two days. I'll write to you from there, even if it's on my knees. I love you passionately...