Jean Cocteau – Set of nine autograph letters signed. 1918-56

Jean Cocteau (1889.1963)

A set of 9 autograph letters signed to Hélène and Philippe Berthelot.

Eight pages in quarto and two pages in octavo

Between 1918 and 1956.

Collector's stamp on each letter.

"For most people, art is a lie. In reality, art is truer than truth itself."

A remarkable collection of letters testifying to the long and sincere friendship that linked Jean Cocteau to the Berthelot couple.

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[1918]. Dear Madam, Alas, I have some stupid and sudden military obligations that force me to "eat quickly." What consoles me is Claudel, whose question mark intimidates my future. But if you would allow me to come and see you any day after 5 o'clock, I would be most delighted. I am counting on a sign and I apologize for my sleepwalking-Piton rudeness.

*

I was late coming from the Bois de Boulogne. What a shame. It was such a pleasure to embrace you, especially now that Philippe, like us, is the only poet amidst all the boors. I'll call this evening. For some people, art is a lie. In reality, art is truer than truth itself. Philippe's letter touches me like the most moving work of art. Tell him so.

*

December 30, 1921. My dearest Philippe, You are now like us: the poet. Receiving stones is still the best way to have your bust pelted with. I was beginning to find it strange that people put up with you. What they seek through you, what wounds them in you, is this mysterious principle, this profound elegance that makes you our friend, makes you one of us.

*

June 1929. My dear Philippe, I sense you are grieving. The sorrow of both hard and tender hearts overwhelms me. I am as clumsy at friendship as those too enamored are at love, but above all, I ask you not to mistake my sick silences for laziness. Your friend, Jean.

*

My dear Philippe, it goes without saying, doesn't it, that I support you wholeheartedly in your profound struggles. These are things one doesn't discuss at the dinner table. Things one never discusses, for that matter – but which enrich friendship.

*

July 3, 1939. My dearest Hélène, I thought I was far from your sight, and a friend has given me great pleasure by telling me that you are thinking of me. May I come to see you? This film is keeping me very busy, and I never know in advance when I'll have free time. But I will always find a minute to run and kiss you and talk about our wonderful ghosts.

*

March 1947. My dear Hélène, Of course—but in what form? Do you want to be the angel you've always been? My secretary, Paul Morihien, lives (his bookshop) at 11 bis rue du Beaujolais (next to Colette's). Have him tell me what to do. I will.

*

My dearest Hélène, I told Paul Morihien to send a thousand fairies to Gallimard. […] Warmest regards to the Claudels.

*

November 1956. Hélène! I've been thinking of you all day—of you and of Philippe, who wore his heart on his sleeve, that wonderful face! […] Life is dead. It's almost unbelievable. I love you and embrace you from the bottom of my heart. Philippe's passing represents the complete shattering of our memories, of our certainties. What a pity to remain a little longer than some friends.

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