Louis-Ferdinand CELINE - Collection of twelve prison letters

Louis-Ferdinand CELINE (1894.1961)

An extraordinary collection of twelve autographed letters signed to his lawyer Thorvald Mikkelsen, during his prison detention in Denmark.

Twenty-four quarto pages in total, on pink paper from Københavns Faengsler prison, covering the period from January 31 to February 25, 1947.

Almost all of the letters are unpublished in the Pléiade correspondence.

Having taken refuge in Denmark after the Liberation, Céline found lodging in the apartment of his friend Karen Marie Jensen. The French ambassador, learning in October 1945 of Céline's presence in Denmark, inquired with the Minister of Foreign Affairs about the appropriate course of action. Georges Bidault replied that an arrest warrant had been issued against Céline in April 1945 and that his extradition should be obtained. On December 17, 1945, the couple was arrested, with Lucette being released a few days later. For his defense, Céline turned to Thorwald Mikkelsen in Denmark, a French-speaking and Francophile lawyer he had met through Danish friends, and in France to Albert Naud, a lawyer and former member of the Resistance, whom he approached through his friend Antonio Zuloaga, press attaché at the Spanish embassy. The Danish government, deeming the charges against Céline insufficient, refused his extradition but kept him in prison until the end of February 1947, when he was transferred to a hospital in Copenhagen.

These twelve letters offer a fascinating glimpse into the hellish prison experience of a Céline who was simultaneously rebellious, dejected, ill, combative, and hoping for his imminent release. With a frenzied writing style, he poured out his complaints and hopes to Mikkelsen; here are the details:

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I – January 31, 1947.

"My dear Master, please do not let up your pressure for a single second . We know from experience that even the most official promises in Denmark are practically worthless, and that about-faces are the norm. If I am not sent to Rigshospital within the week, I implore you, request my return to France . I have wasted 13 months of torture in Danish prisons. That is enough in the life of a 54-year-old man! Do they imagine I have 200 years to live in Danish government ministries? In any case, prison is prison, on to France (where I might never have spent so much time!). All this, which began so amiably, is turning, over time, into the odious, sadistic, and grotesque. All these airs and graces, these super-diplomatic subtleties, are now burlesque and irrelevant. What was intelligent 18 months ago is now absurd and unbearable." Time passes. … Does the ministry know this? Do they read the newspapers there?

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II – February 1 ^, 1947.

"I look forward to having the right to be humbly judged like the lowest of convicts by real judges."

“My dear Master, I am sure you are like me, that you don't believe a word of the promise to have me transferred to Rigshospital. It's all nonsense. Only then, I beg you, have me sent back to France without delay. I have now written to the four corners of the world. Everyone knows what I have suffered here. It is odious, moreover, to play on words. The whole world knows that Westre is the harshest prison in Denmark and not at all a place of internment. To play on words again is to claim that it is impossible to find in Danish law an article that prevents my release. That's Holberg! [Ludvig Holberg, 18th-century Danish satirist] That's Molière! Precisely because I am only subject to the police, everything is very easy with a little goodwill. It was very easy to keep me captive for 15 months by virtue of mere police powers! Tragic farce!” I hope that the opinions of President Truman, the King of Sweden, and the Pope won't be necessary to simply transfer me back to my country! And at a gallop! I'm fed up with these phantom ministers who never meet and these immaterial offices where promises evaporate and every "yes" really means no, with a thousand airs and graces! I long for the right to be humbly judged like the lowest of convicts by real judges who speak a real language. I'm dying in this nightmare. So, dear Sir, no more reprieve, no more mirage! Back! Back! Back! A thousand thanks! A thousand infinite gratitudes for so much goodwill, but enough , enough, enough. At 54, you don't have fifteen months to throw away like it's nothing! In the highly unlikely event that these promises come to fruition, don't you think it would be a good idea to host a private breakfast or dinner at your home between this French lady, my wife, and the Second ^Secretary you mentioned? This could be extremely helpful in re-establishing our close ties with France, which were so unfortunately severed and are now being rebuilt. Of course, all of this is hypothetical. What matters is my immediate and uncomplicated departure for France, unless I am transferred to Rigshospital….”

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III – February 2, 1947.

"They don't give a damn about my case, and I completely understand that indifference."

“My dear Master and friend, I admire your efforts and your magnificent devotion, but how we have been deceived by the Danish ministers! To stoop to lying, to deceiving a prisoner—that would once have dishonored a Prince, a King, forever! The entire French monarchy rested for 16 centuries on the motto, never transgressed: ‘The King has spoken .’ Lying to a prisoner is an extremely cowardly act of irredeemable ugliness, dishonoring one once and for all. I, a wretch, hunted by the whole world, who would have had a thousand excuses because of my weakness, to deceive and lie, have never uttered a word that was not strictly true ; I have never broken even a thousandth of my word. The shame lies with the Danish government.” Perhaps this contempt for me stems from the fact that your offices imagine I'm capable of swallowing any old toad—lies, deceptions, prison, etc.—to cling to Denmark? That I'm so debased by cowardice and fear that any nonsense is good enough for me, that I'll always be satisfied. What a mistake! I only ask to return to France ! I'd much rather return to France than be tormented, dragged around, and deceived endlessly. I asked for asylum in Denmark, not prison or internment! Oh no! Hand me over quickly if the Danes are unable or unwilling to release me, but please, no more subterfuge, evasions, or miserable stratagems. We now know that the opposition doesn't come from France, but rather from the Danish offices . Another lie crumbles. What are the Danish offices afraid of? Danish public opinion? Svend Borberg collaborated differently than I did, and he's free . Tandrup will be released in a month. There you have it, some comparisons for the famous Danish public opinion, if you please! In truth, the bureaucracy only fears a parliamentary question. Everything else—interventions, reasons—leaves them cold. Now, who's going to question me in the Danish parliament? Obviously, no one. They couldn't care less about my case, and I understand this indifference perfectly well. To the bureaucracy, I'm a foreign dog. They prove it to me . As for not finding a paragraph of Danish law to free me, that's pure Holberg! [Ludvig Holberg, 18th-century Danish satirist] Do they realize that? In short, I spent 16 months in prison, condemned by the forger Politiken [a Danish daily newspaper hostile to Céline] and only by Politiken. How cheerful! I'll remember that. Let us laugh, dear Master, nothing is as funny in Molière !

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IV – February 6, 1947.

"I feel myself going mad in a forest of lies, filled with invisible wizards who amuse themselves by torturing and leading me astray."

“My dear Master and friend, Tune Andersen has just informed me that it is impossible to send me back to the hospital! (Rigshospital) So, as I expected, the whole scheme collapses, once again! Well? What will they finally ? If they would do me the honor and the humanity of asking my opinion, it is this: I refuse, under any circumstances, to remain in a Danish prison, even if they call it Internment. Superfluous hypocrisy. If nothing else can be arranged, then hand me over to France, and quickly, without waiting for any further decisions from the Pope or the Moon. Karen Marie Jensen went to the Ministry of Justice (I had warned her, the bitch!). There, she was told that if they were keeping me in prison, it was because France forbade my release ! More lies! Always lies!” Everything we touch, dear Master, is a lie! I feel myself going mad in a forest of lies, filled with invisible sorcerers who amuse themselves by torturing and leading me astray. Truly, this is enough. I have inflicted 15 months of torment on Denmark. Now they can let me go to my fate. Their offices have had enough fun with my weakness. I long for them to hand me over and for it all to be over. I can't wait to stand before visible, real accusers, to escape this cursed forest.

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V – February 9, 1947.

"My wife and I were literally murdered here."

“My dear Master and friend, we can no longer, under any circumstances, give the slightest importance to the hateful nonsense of that hysterical little drunkard, Charbonniere. Your Ministry of Justice must not present these inept little displays of arrogance as valid. I have answered the French justice system once and for all. For me, the matter is closed. I refuse to be fooled by these clownish antics. All this is to make us lose sight of the fact that there is indeed a real score to settle, an explanation to give to me. By what right did the Danish Minister of Justice subject me to 16 months of torture in his prisons? By what right does he keep in his cell a French war veteran with a 75% disability – a military medal recipient with more war service against Germany than any Dane? The act is monstrous, and its persistence inconceivable. These 16 months in prison and my future are of great importance to me, I beg you to believe. Illness? Good heavens, what a foolish question!” A man 75% disabled at 54 years old, after three years of suffering, including 16 months of Danish torture, is bound to be ill! Very ill! The strange, the marvel, is that he hasn't died! Here, my wife and I were literally murdered. This is what the whole world is beginning to know and understand , even in France , especially in France . The pen or voice of a Charbonnière or a Rasmussen barely reaches beyond their antechamber. My books are awaited by the whole world. I'm fed up with being the whipping boy of your brainless Machiavellians in the ministry or embassy! Enough! Put these dogs in their place, please! The master will speak! You can warn them that one of those tiles is going to fall on their heads soon, leaving lasting scars! We've seen certain books bring down states stronger than Denmark. The Beaumarchais breed isn't dead, let those idiots remember that before it's too late. Nor can I (nor can the doctors) spend my time cleaning up the criminal messes in your offices. Enough of these hideous subterfuges of cowardice. As for the "reason" for the exchange of favors in the courts, the handing over of collaborators, etc., with France, that's the most despicable reason one could possibly invoke. No more stratagems, fuss, or evasions! Let's be clear! Demand my extradition immediately if I'm not taken out of the Wester right now , once and for all! I'm better suited to slaughter than to lamentation. I guarantee you, little will remain of Denmark's great humanitarian reputation once I've dealt with it.

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VI – February 10, 1947.

"What right do these idiots have to throw my days to the pigs, to the garbage of their prison?"

“My dear Master and friend, It has been 21 days since I returned to the Westre. When I am in the hospital, they can only release me on the condition that I return to the Westre; when I am in the Westre, they can do nothing without me returning to the hospital! What a despicable farce! All of it mixed with feigned clumsiness, so-called misunderstandings, and simulated indignation! No, in truth, these people think I am even more stupid than I am. A six-year-old wouldn't believe this joke anymore. In short, it seems they want to kill me at all costs, drive me mad in Denmark so that the traces of this very nasty case of arbitrary detention, this frankly despicable police brutality, will disappear. However, I warn you that I have already informed the whole world , in every detail, of the indignant, completely illegal, and profoundly unjust torture I am being subjected to here.” Either I should have died in France two years ago, when I presented myself to Danish justice without making any secret of myself or my writings, or I should have been released at least a year ago. We are now witnessing a complete legal monstrosity . I demand my extradition to France immediately—demand it for me. Enough of this charade. Denmark will miss me, I swear. The ministry has misjudged me. They believe me defenseless, voiceless, without recourse. Just wait! Mr. Rasmussen will be receiving reports of panic from his dim-witted Legations for a long time to come. I'm going to wake everyone up! You will read the letter from Lucien Descaves, president of the Goncourt Academy, and make it widely read ; it will give your bureaucrats a foretaste of what's to come. By what right do these cretins presume to throw my life to the pigs, to the garbage of their prison? All this will be paid for. And then, please, come and see me, and ask for my wife to have more frequent and longer visits, the maximum possible ."

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VII – February 11, 1947.

"Get out of this diabolical charade immediately! Please request my extradition."

“My dear Master and friend, I have been told repeatedly, in every possible way, that I am not a prisoner but interned, and not even interned, but something or other. That is why I have been effectively dying in prison for the past 16 months. They don't know how to treat me without offending France , supposedly… But is parole unheard of in Denmark? My word of honor not to escape should suffice. It's nothing new. Thousands of officers throughout history, in every country in the world, have been 'prisoners on parole.' This seems an enormity to Danish sensibilities. It is true that in a country where ministers perjure themselves , where directors of ministries betray their word, betray trust, swindle prisoners, and contradict themselves from one hour to the next, it is rather ludicrous to speak of honor!” These are no longer ministries but souks where the trafficking of counterfeit currency, false promises, and petty and grand villainy is commonplace—where no one can be surprised. Although I do slander the Arab leaders for whom a promise is absolutely sacred and never broken. Denmark is short of Arab leaders. This is the old world! Nothing new. Dr. Himeman simply asked if I was eating well! They continue to make a show of it. Nothing gets decided. So, dear Master, we must decide. Get out of this diabolical charade immediately! Request my extradition, I beg you. Along with more frequent visits for my wife. We've been made fools of enough in the ministries. I no longer want to be a clown for these malevolent idiots. And let it all be done quickly! Let them not procrastinate for another century. I'm getting rid of them. Let them leave me in peace. Farewell to these monsters .

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VIII – February 13, 1947.

"Everything I own now belongs to my wife, née Lucette Almanzor… These are my last wishes…"

“My dear Master, I think we’ve had enough of this charade, these lies, these grimaces! It’s time to change the stage! Enough! Enough! I hope you’ve already submitted my request for immediate extradition . He doesn’t need to consult the Shah of Persia, the Archangel Gabriel, or General Montgomery for that, I imagine? Is this finally a decision he can make without haggling, evasion, or backstabbing? Off we go! The rest is up to me. I’ll settle all my accounts in Paris, you can be sure of that, with the French and the Danes. There are plenty. I won’t leave anything unsaid. Everything will be meticulously and thoroughly settled. But it needs to be done quickly. I’ll start building up my strength at Gram’s. Here, under the Vestre regime, I’m starting to waste away again. I don’t want to arrive in Paris too depressed, and prison is making me terribly depressed.” So let all this finally, for the first time, be firmly decided. Or should I write to Charbonnière? Advise me. I must also sign a document for you. Everything I own now belongs to my wife, née Lucette Almanzor. I give her everything. I have nothing left. Everything is hers and hers alone. These are my last wishes. This must be said in Paris, and here. My daughter has nothing to do with any of this. Everything rightfully belongs to Lucie Georgette Almanzor. Nothing is mine anymore. She owes no one an explanation. That's clear. I owe nothing to anyone (except yourself). Finally, I beg you, my dear friend, come and see me so we can finalize all of this.

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IX – February 18, 1947.

"I know very well what's going on; it's Jewish revenge, plotting, scheming, and manipulating from the depths of your offices."

“My dear Master and friend, I am still here, of course, as was easily foreseen, in this country where yes means no , where right away means never , where a promise is all it takes for the opposite to happen—always. It's been a month since I returned to this prison where I was officially promised I would stay for three days! One can only dream in the face of such brutality, sadism, and recklessness. What should I do? Please, give me some firm advice. I no longer know how to make it clear that I've had enough— more than enough —that I want to return to France. We have been far too cautious and diplomatic. We have been monstrously taken for fools. They have exploited our good upbringing and my personal cowardice . I refuse to remain in a Danish prison any longer.” I know perfectly well what's going on, and I find it amusing. It's Jewish revenge, plotting, scheming, and manipulating in the depths of your offices —a fine case of racial persecution, though difficult to admit. That's all there is to it. Nothing more. It's hard to fool me on this subject. I'm not naive. I just seem to believe the nonsense I'm told, that's all. Come on, let's get this over with! They know perfectly well in your offices that in three months of freedom I would sort everything out and regularize my situation with France quite nicely . But that's precisely what your offices want to prevent at all costs. They've branded me a traitor. Good heavens, I'd better keep it! Hence these famous last-minute obstacles and these idiotic entanglements…this stubborn ill will…all this idiotic charade…

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X – February 20, 1947.

"This despicable farce has gone on for far too long—at least 12 months! Why shouldn't it last 12 years?"

“I know full well, alas, my dear Master, that you will come to see me in a few days to announce that the magnificent library combination has once again (for the 50th ^time at least) failed at the last minute… because… I am dying under the weight of the ‘becauses.’ The ‘becauses’ have finally robbed me of all will to live. What happens to me is like what happens with cannibals, where the victim begs at the end to be eaten so they can finally be left in peace. I compare the reasons for the prestige and terror that Gram inspires. It’s because he is one of the few men in Denmark who doesn’t count among the ‘becauses.’ It takes him two minutes and a phone call to have me sent back to prison at a gallop!” Five ministers (supposedly well-intentioned), fifty distinguished bureaucrats, in 16 months of endless wrangling, have failed, with the best of reasons, to get me out of this mess, and they keep me there despite all rights, customs, and basic human decency… Entangled, bogged down, tied down, strangled, bewildered, completely stupefied, buried as they are in their “becauses.” No, truly, my dear friend, this ignoble farce has gone on for far too long—at least 12 months! Why shouldn’t it last 12 years? Confused explanations, grotesque defeats, transparent contradictions and underhanded dealings—there’s nothing left to listen to in this bizarre charade. Let’s bring the curtain down quickly! You’ll certainly agree with me. It’s now only a matter of our position for the transfer to France as soon as possible . Everything else is pointless and idiotic. I had so much to sort out with my wife. That damned Gram struck me down too soon. Well, just leaving that barracks of lies will be a relief.

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XI – February 22, 1947.

"If they had lost 40 kilos of their damned bloated guts, their cries would be heard all the way to Greenland!"

"My dear Master and friend, the sinister farce continues. Only I see that Tune Andersen is also beginning to get annoyed with my presence and that he will simply send me back to my cell . Thus the cycle will be complete. This reminds me of Emperor Charles V's reply to Luther, who reproached him for having him arrested despite all his promises: 'One owes no word to an unbeliever.' Your offices also consider me unworthy of any consideration. My wife (according to you) informs me that the Danish doctors declare that I am not ill . So why don't they give me back the 40 kilos I lost in the Danish prisons? If they themselves had lost 40 kilos of their damned, bloated guts, their cries would be heard all the way to Greenland! Damn, vile hypocrites! Gram is furious." His eyes are bulging, Thune is swollen from frenzied gorging, and they find me too healthy. I'll wait another two or three days and then I'll write three letters, which I'm sure you'll approve, to Mrs. Eimquist, Rasmussen, and Charbonniere. In the same terms and at the same time, requesting my return to France—by the quickest means. The Danish torture has gone on long enough. Gram had all this presented to me: "Oh, I can keep you for six months; they won't have decided anything yet. The best thing for you would be a ticket to Malmö," those were his words. They say it all. The rest is a dirty jumble of babble and evasive nonsense. But I would have liked to sort things out with my wife, to write certain letters; I can't do it with two miserable half-hour visits a week! They tie my hands behind my back, throw me into the sea, and beg me to swim fast! What a vile farce! Come quickly, dear Master.

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XII – February 25, 1947.

"We did not find Céline guilty of treason, and his anti-Semitic writings date from before the war."

“My dear Master, Enclosed is an article from the February 14th issue of Lettres françaises, a bastion of communism, in which the imbecile Claude Morgan implicitly admits—the cretin!—that I did not collaborate . This is worth noting . He accuses me, for example, of anti-Semitism. Another absurdity. But this time your Eimquist bears some responsibility. His statement in my favor was admirably courageous and clear (you were its instigator and architect), but he should have declared: ‘We have not found Céline guilty of treason, and his anti-Semitic writings date from before the war and therefore do not fall under the purview of the so-called French purge laws.’ That would have been entirely true and more astute. These dogs would have lost all opportunity to squawk again.” My wife told me yesterday that the librarian was bedridden… Is it true that a law is being drafted, on the verge of being enacted, concerning foreigners in prison? That they might be released or extradited? My poor wife may have jumped to conclusions a bit too quickly. I would be very glad to receive a short note from you, as you write perfect French. The main thing is to get out of here.