Thank you, my dear Georges, for this moment spent with you, a moment more true than reality, as in photogenic. Until soon, with other news.
Your friend,
Roland
* * *
Sunday, [June 12, 1960]
My dear Georges,
I’m very late in answering you, but you understand that my incapacity to write letters is one of those deep tendencies that require indulgence! You know that those tendencies are significant but not intentional. There I go again with my language. I’m on the point of coming to the end, if I can say that, with signifiers of Fashion; a few hours of organizing and nothing more will keep me from finally drafting this essay that I always announce in a fixed way like the march of the choir at the Opera. I’m leaving in a few days for Italy for a conference on the Image, then afterward Hendaye and Fashion (I hope to come see you returning from Hendaye, in the fall). I’ve seen a little theater (that hasn’t happened to me in a long time), a few mediocre standards (among them, sadly, Le Balcon45 and, shining above the mist like a distant star, the incomparable Brechtian Mère).46 Once again I was sick from this beauty; well, affected, moved, freed, rendered powerful, intelligent, in harmony with the world—and then depressed that this work is all alone; what to do with a single piece of evidence?
Write me a note. I keep track of you through Pierre and Denise, but your own writing would make me happy.
Faithfully yours,
Roland
* * *
Thursday, [November 10, 1960]
My dear Georges, a small sign of friendship—no big news otherwise. I’m unhinged by renovations that are making a mess of my room, which I was able to enlarge. But at the moment I have no place to go, and I’m reduced to reading (because I can do it on my bed)! Well, I found Pierre’s book dazzling, for reconciling you with art.47 For the rest, the sociology wave, day to day—and Fashion too often at a standstill—interminable. With all that I take on, I would need an explosive cenaesthesia, and I’m so slow, so lazy! You see that I’ve resolved nothing, I carry on; and as for politics, well, I think that on the contrary I’m rationalizing more and more—that is to say, paradoxically, that I’m going straighter, a little.48
Yours, dear Georges, faithfully,
Roland
* * *
[Thursday,] November 19, 1961
My dear Georges,
Your note made me very happy, as you well know; but even when we don’t write to each other, it seems I always know your essential news through Pierre, and I even saw photos from last summer, of Tania and the little one, as if I had been there.49 But of course it’s not the same thing, all the same; and I must really come pay you a short visit in your Brittany. But what can you do, it’s another year of stress; for three or four years, I’ve been trying to escape my annual difficulties with work once and for all. I would like to try someday to be full faculty at this École des Hautes Études, where I only teach irregularly.50 If I manage that, I believe that I would be free (if one can believe such a thing), free at least to return to more relaxed writing, to literature, in short, to the slightly informal life of a writer. To that end I must provide certain evidence to the University. I’m trying to transform my Fashion into a thesis and settle that issue this year; that’s to tell you that I still can’t give it to you to read. I estimate that I have two more months of work on the manuscript, for which I’ve written and typed up three hundred pages. I promise to send you a copy, as soon as it’s final. In short, another tunnel-year, but I believe, yes, I really believe that it’s the last one—at least for this tunnel! And consequently, you get the picture: I can’t do anything but that, I can’t read, except a little linguistics for myself, I hardly write, and basically see no one. Evenings, of course, I go out a bit, but it’s mostly to rove the streets. But you, no Paris? Even spoiled and exhausting, a little visit here would let us see each other and play a few scales together. Try.
Your friend,
Roland
* * *
Urt, Tuesday, [spring 1962]
My dear Georges,
I know that I’m beating my own records in silence. I always plead work; but it’s true. I was supposed to submit a part of the manuscript before vacation, in such a rush that this past month I really believe I didn’t have a single engagement or write a single letter.51 I worked all day long and went out a bit in the evening, late, like cats do. And that will be true, I think, for May as well, when many things must be decided for me. But, if one can say this, the heart keeps watch, you know. I hope that you have had spring there. I arrived here four days ago, and there were three glorious days, but today it’s gray and I’m returning in haste to resume my manuscript and my little worries at Hautes Études. Perhaps this is the last month before something decisive, either that I get that post as Director of Studies which would give me stability and freedom, or that I renounce completely this endless flirting with the University.
Be in touch, my dear Georges, and I beg you, never hold my silences against me.
With all my affection,
Roland
* * *
Urt, Sunday, [June 17, 1962]
My dear Georges,
I’m in our Southwest for three days, having come here to take a rest from professional tumult; I was named director of studies at the School of the same name.52 All the feelings for the Collège de France or the Academie. But also, this is important for me: I am free here, independent, two hours of a little teaching per week, months of vacation, no more bosses, no more annual reapplying for a position—and maybe, beyond all these objective reasons, the obscure satisfaction of returning to this University for which I basically have a weakness; a plaything that I wanted as an adolescent and that I undoubtedly still desired, since I have struggled to obtain it in middle age, by “retiring” from literature for three or four years. There, I’ve acquired a taste for big plans; so I’m telling myself: one more year of pseudouniversity tasks (Fashion and the little thesis),53 after which, provided with an occupation of two hours of work per week, I will get to the real writing. And there it is. That changes nothing about my work at the moment. Fashion is moving forward (when have I said that to you?), but I believe it will take me the summer; afterward: the little thesis, and the first year’s seminar to prepare. I can do that on signs.54
I’m returning to Paris next week, but I think only for a few days. I’m tired, ready for my Italian vacation. After that, in the summer, I don’t know: no doubt Urt and work. Are you coming to Paris someday? Give me a bit of your news, tell me what you’re reading, what you’re writing.
Yours,
Roland
* * *
Sunday, [early October 1962]
My dear Georges,
You know, it’s always in my plans to write to you, but in one sense, since I am no longer an adolescent, I no longer know how to write letters, and that’s why I regret it so much that you are far away. It seems to me that I have nothing to tell you beyond the realm of conversation and the hand is too slow and too heavy (you can see that, moreover, in my handwriting!). But, as for me, selfishly, I really like receiving your letters. We returned late from the Southwest this year, that golden-green grape seed color of this Basque Béarn, that was described so well by Francis Jammes when he was the famous poet of the region.55 I didn’t work so much during the summer, I lazed about, and now, coming back, I’ve spent all this October on an infinite number of thankless, inessential tasks. The essential one would be Fashion, but it remains only half typed up and there’s still much left to do. So there you have it. I begin my seminar for Hautes Études in November; but this year I’ll be obliged to improvise week by week.
When will we see you? I missed you again in September.
Your friend,
Roland
* * *
December 28, 1962
My dear Georges,
You’ve heard about the plan for an Italian-German-French publication developed here by a group that I’m part
of (in extremis), centered on Blanchot and Mascolo.56 I’d like to give you a long explanation of what all this means, but time is short and we need to take the plunge. Now, we need you, and I have everyone’s support to contact you and beg you to join us: the new essential thing being—in our eyes—an ongoing column (le Cours des Choses) composed of fragments coming from each of us. You, the triumphant hero of the successful fragment, are the man for the job; the note from Blanchot, attached, will give you a sense of this column: to be presented there through a few fragments, flashes of that indirect light that literature ought to shed on the world—the world of others and our own.57 If you can send us those fragments by January 10, that would be ideal (we have an international meeting in the middle of the month).58
We’re counting on you, dear Georges; and as the need one has of others is basically the most tenacious of our affections, I am not ashamed to add to this appeal my warm and faithful wishes for you and yours, from your old friend.
Roland
* * *
Monday, [January 14, 1963]
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for these beautiful fragments that you were so kind to send us; everyone thanks you for them. I’ll keep you posted on what the review (which doesn’t yet exist) will do with them.59 Just as they are, they constitute an invaluable contribution to build upon: thank you.
I had the pleasure of reading you as if it was a good letter to me; you should send these notes regularly to your friends! They give the impression of living with you.
Thinking of you faithfully, my dear Georges.
Roland
* * *
Friday, [April 19, 1964]
But no, my dear Georges, I love you as from the very first day, I think of you always with the most faithful affection, how could you doubt it? You’d have no doubt if you knew (but you do know, since I’ve told you) how much trouble I have writing letters; existential trouble, but it’s nothing more than one of those little neuroses or even schizophrenias that go gallivanting between the pen and the head—and the heart—of those who write. I’m a good fellow for conversation (at least I hope) but, sadly, not for letters. That’s why, with you so far away, I miss you even more. As for the book, I plead not guilty.60 This time, Seuil stuck me with my twenty-five author copies and let me mail them myself; thus a considerable delay precisely for my friends. Your book has been here on my piano, all wrapped up to send, since before vacation, but since I returned from Urt only yesterday, that explains the delay. Yes, I would like very much to hear the good news of your son from you soon—and that you’ll be coming to Paris soon as well, and that this time I won’t miss you.
Yours truly with all my faithful affection.
Roland
* * *
Urt, July 2, [1964]
My dear Georges,
I learned through Michel that you have suffered the loss of your father.61 I’m here, my dear Georges, and I’m thinking of you. Write to me, it seems to me that I’m the one who needs your words.
Your friend,
Roland
* * *
Urt, August 16, 1964
My dear Georges,
A small sign of friendship, since signs seem all I’m capable of! I made a little jaunt from Morocco to Italy, and now here, for rest, that is to say, work (relentless). I’m working on Rhetoric, I’m reading Quintilian. My heart is heavy, my overly sensitive “soul” is troubled, but Quintilian sets many things right. No doubt I’ll be here for a few more weeks. And then, Paris, which is not to be envied.
Thinking of you faithfully.
Yours,
Roland
* * *
Baltimore, October 6, [1967]62
My dear Georges,
It gave me great pleasure to see your writing, but I’m furious just the same! Why attack me so? You know quite well that my silence between letters means nothing; I’ve explained to you how difficult it is for me to write “intransitively,” how I refuse to consider the letter an obligatory sign of faithfulness. For me, if I could see you again, I would find you as before, with the same affection and confidence, that’s certain. And Fashion, that’s another misunderstanding; regretfully, I let that semiological tome come out, with the firm intention of not boring friends with it, except in special cases63 (Pierre, for example, being interested in the “suit”).64 It’s not a book that can represent a “gift,” a “souvenir,” a “sign.” Certainly, since you would like it, I’m going to have Seuil send you a copy. There you have it. But I would really like you to come to Paris sometime when I’m there (I return in February, after this American ordeal, which has just begun) and when we can see each other in the usual way.
Your faithful friend,
Roland
* * *
Rabat, May 1, 1970
My dear Georges,
Far from being “bêtises,” the things you’ve written me give me pleasure.65 That pleasure which sounds right, and thus makes good, justifies a work—justification that, in the barbaric slosh, only comes from friends anymore; because the press, the public …
I’m having Japan sent to you (I don’t get complimentary copies from Skira, hence the confusion); I think it ought to please you, because it’s a rare genre: a happy critique!
Yours faithfully,
Roland
11, rue Pierre-Sémard
Rabat
* * *
Paris, April 28, 1973
My dear Georges,
I was very happy to receive the Papiers collés II; already, before one reads you, you offer the pleasure of the journey, of gleaning (and I also immediately fell on the lines that you devoted to me, and they made me happy).66 In short, you are not boring—and I end up being fascinated by this quality—so difficult to define. I’ll take advantage of this note to tell you that I was sorry to miss you on your last visit. When are you coming back? Write to me a little in advance.
Thank you,
Your friend,
Roland
* * *
March 8, 1975
Thank you, Georges, your letter is magnificent.67 True criticism is in letters, more and more. Please, when you’re coming to Paris, let me know a bit in advance, and we’ll get together. I would like that.
Yours,
R. B.
* * *
March 28, 1976
My very dear Georges,
Lambrichs let me know about your disease and your operation.68 It touched me deeply—all the more so because I had just reconnected with you through those “fracta” of memories that I loved so much, that I would have loved to have thought of and been able to write.69
Heal quickly and well, and trust in my steadfast and faithful affection.
Roland
3. With Jean Starobinski
Many factors connected Roland Barthes and Jean Starobinski. The writers they worked on Michelet, Racine, La Rochefoucauld.… But most importantly, a shared rigor, a shared ethics in their conception of critical writing. Starobinski’s support of Barthes during the episode of the quarrel with Picard is proof of that.70 Although the letter that Starobinski wrote at that time shows, despite his “constant support,” there were not so much differences as particular problems that could not be resolved, for which the Neutral might have been the stumbling block. Starobinski’s invitation to Barthes to teach a seminar at the University of Geneva in early 1971 strengthened the warm ties between the two “writer-critics” who both contributed to Skira’s “Les Sentiers de la création” collection by publishing two very beautiful books the same year, L’Empire des signes and Portrait de l’artiste en saltimbanque (1970).
Jean Starobinski to Roland Barthes
Geneva, July 18, 1954
Dear Sir,
Thank you for getting your Michelet to me. I found your book upon my return from America, where I spent the winter.
The “method” that you applied seems to me singularly fruitful. That is very much the way analysis should proceed, I’m convinced. Whatever
Kemp or Coiplet say, do not renounce thematic research!71 But I don’t think you need my encouragement to feel that you haven’t betrayed your author or failed in the essayist’s difficult task. Give us more counterpoints like this one.
I will be in Geneva all summer; be in touch if you are passing through. For my part, I would be very happy to meet you (at Seuil?) during my brief stay in Paris, late September, on the way to America.
Yours cordially,
Jean Starobinski
Roland Barthes to Jean Starobinski (BNS)
[Paris,] April 30, 1961
Will you forgive me for my long delay in thanking you for your book, and for the words that you so kindly sent with it? Do you know how I searched for your text before writing my little Racine?72 I should have written you to get the exact reference; I was torn between the fear of contradicting you and the fear of repeating you. Thus I have only just read yours and the perfection, the rightness of what you write allays all my fears; I couldn’t agree with you more.73 It’s a very beautiful book, with which one forms a secret understanding, so thank you for all that. I hope very much to meet you one day, and if you come to Paris, it would make me very happy if you would get in touch with me.
Let me convey to you my feelings of admiration and deep regard,
R. Barthes
11, rue Servandoni, Paris VIe
Dan. 95–85
Jean Starobinski to Roland Barthes
Geneva, June 3, 1961
Dear Roland Barthes,
Your letter gave me great pleasure. I value everything you write too highly not to be pleased by the warm reception you give my book.
Passing through Geneva, Bernard Pingaud told me about a La Rochefoucauld that you’re doing. Has this book been published? I myself have a study in the works on the same subject, and your essay would be extremely valuable to me. (A part of my essay—the preamble—appeared in Médecine de France, no. 107, 1959, but is subject to revision.)74
Will you be in Paris at the end of the month of September or beginning of October? If no obstacles arise, I am hoping to spend two weeks in France at that time.
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