Roland
Urt
Basses-Pyrénées
Tel. 47
Maurice Pinguet to Roland Barthes (BNF)
April 17, 1970
My dear Roland,
Your Japan was waiting for me here!133 I am returning from a trip to Spain—with no other bonus than the charm of things to see and the climate—and your Japan was waiting for me. You can imagine the whiff of nostalgia.
I leafed through it without reading it yet in detail because I like approaching it gradually and I would like my best attention to be available. But I already sense through this rapid glance the extremely exciting ideas and emotions that this book is going to offer me.
And what joy to have been, for you, its first addressee! How to thank you for so fond a thought? You know in any case, dear Roland, that this affection is totally reciprocal. You may trust in my friendship as I do in yours.
Thank you,
Maurice Pinguet
* * *
Tokyo, November 26, 1979
My dear Roland,
I often think of you, very often, but I hardly write to you, forgive me, I’m in a difficult phase of dejection, depression that often makes the smallest effort to get out of myself impossible even to write a few lines. This isn’t out of negligence, as you well understand; it’s disarray. The irony is that this return to Japan, which I awaited with so much joy, which was my constant dream for more than ten years, is turning into such a cruel existential crisis! Sometimes I tell myself it’s simply a nervous, neurological disease whose onset just happens to coincide with this return. Sometimes I tell myself, like Bretécher of Thérèse d’Avila, “all this, it’s psychosomatic”—a less disturbing but more humiliating hypothesis because, no matter what I do, I don’t see a thing in my symptoms.134 Dear Roland, I’ve already talked too much of ills that only interest me […]135 and I’ve said enough to gain your indulgence for my silence. You have no doubt remained under the impression left by our last Rue de Sèvres meeting, that story of love, my hypomanic energy. Now it’s the other side of the coin. But you, what has become of you? In Paris, even if I didn’t telephone you often, the possibility of doing so, of seeing you, always existed, always verifiable. And your plan to come to Japan—to the Philippines? If you need me to do something, tell me, I would be happy to help you carry out a plan that may perhaps give me the joy of seeing you again in a few months. In principle, it was the spring you had in mind? I’m going to spend a week in the Philippines with André from December 21 to 28. If that still interests you, I’ll give you recent information. Dear Roland, do you know that a critic for the Japan Times (which is the big English-language newspaper in Japan), Donald Richie, recently listing the five best works written on Japan since he’s been writing about it, included L’Empire des signes in his ultraselective choice? Where do things stand with the plan for a new edition in France? Ah, dear Roland, I still have much to tell you—these aerograms are too short—but I’ll write to you again—please note my new address.136 Yours affectionately. Maurice
10. Roland Barthes to Renaud Camus
This is what Renaud Camus writes about first meeting Roland Barthes: “Regarding the date when I first met Roland, it was Saturday, March 2, 1974. I was at the Café de Flore with a few friends, we were getting ready to go see Warhol’s Nude Restaurant at the Palais de Chaillot movie theater, and I (very audaciously) proposed to him that he join us—he accepted without hesitation.” In Barthes’s diary it reads: “March 2, [1974]. Flore with Renaud and William. Movie theater Andy Warhol.” Their friendship was expressed by critical support on the part of Roland Barthes, notably on the occasion of the publication of Renaud Camus’s first book, Passage, published by Flammarion in 1975,137 and again by the preface that Barthes wrote for Tricks, published by Mazarine in 1979.138 Their relationship is largely associated as well with contemporary art. It was through—among others—Renaud Camus, who kept company with Andy Warhol and a certain number of American artists, that Roland Barthes discovered the work of Cy Twombly. Moreover, it was with Camus that Barthes must have gone to Venice in spring 1980 for the major retrospective on Pop Art, for which he wrote one of his last texts, “Cette vieille chose, l’art.…”139
* * *
Urt, Wednesday, March 27, 1974
My very dear Renaud,
Here I am thinking about you and wanting to stop working to write to you. Since my arrival, despite all reason (a thousand things to do for the fall term), I’m working only “for myself,” a complicit and accurate expression, all told, except if we could write for those we love, but, as we said the other night, we can certainly “offer” a text (dedicate it to) but never, sadly, “make” it for another. It would even be easier to make it with another. So, I’m organizing ancient index cards, getting a bit bored (it’s evening and there’s a fir tree, too dark green, out my window), and thinking that what I would like, as a reward for this work, would have to be seeing you again this evening and having dinner with you (with champagne, I’d like that). So it will be Tuesday, then? I’ll arrive during the day (by train); I propose that we meet this Tuesday, April 2 at 8 PM at the Café Apollinaire (it’s grim but we won’t stay there). Only reply or call if there’s a problem. It has been very beautiful and I would love it if you were here, writing your book not far from me.
With love,
R.
* * *
Milano, Monday, June 2, 1974140
Dear and desired Renaud,
Thank you for your note; knowing you a little, I think that you paid me the greatest compliment I received on the China article—and one always needs that to continue.141 The Conference drags needlessly on, it’s warm and sunny, but Italy is losing its art of living.142 We’ll have to come back here (together) soon if we still want to take advantage of it.
I’ll be returning Wednesday evening, no doubt. Try to telephone me very soon (if you can, please: morning, even Friday, this time).
Lovingly,
R.
* * *
Urt, July 9, 1974143
1) I’m on Fragment no. 285; there are 165 left to do, plus the supplements, plus the appendixes, plus the correcting, plus the typing, etc., plus the act of releasing all that to put it into circulation.144
2) I have decided, since the summer break is here, to exonerate my life from its unhappy loves.145
3) I would love to know a) what you are doing with your summer, b) where you are in your manuscript, c) if I’m going to be reading it soon.
Lovingly,
R.
* * *
Saturday, [February 15, 1975]
Renaud, your letter is adorably intelligent; to my mind, you pointed out what was necessary (I won’t let it happen often). And your book—just glanced at it—is moving.146 In short, two beautiful things coming from you and that made me happy.
We will see each other soon, surely.
With love,
RB
* * *
Urt, July 22, 1975
My very dear Renaud,
Your letter is very delightful as always—apart from the bad news. I would happily join you in Greece; I can well imagine the pleasures of it. But you see, it isn’t likely. My summer is already practically arranged, and since it’s an arrangement that has a few affective roots, shifting things is inconceivable. And then, you tell me nothing at all about how one gets to this godforsaken place—not even, among other things, if Lesbos is Greek or Turkish—or even how long you’re staying. Try to send me word from there. In principle (because affectivity includes an aleatory dimension), I’ll be at Juan with the Cordiers (Rapa Nui, Saramartel Parc) from August 2 or 3 until the end of the month.147
What you say about my writings is, as always, very flattering; but your talent, your elegance (let me say, isn’t elegance a condition of truth, contrary to what so many brutal imbeciles think) is to be recognized. As for little Visage (that’s his name), well, he’s wrong about RB.148 I will say that, from the perspective of th
e “theory of the text”—which no doubt obsesses him—it’s an important book—although still completely clandestine!
I send much love with many wishes for sunshine, rest, romantic diversions. Give my love to W.149
R. B.
With regard to Lesbos, stereotype oblige, this from Sappho:
“That one seems to me to be equal to the gods, the man who, seated, facing you, very close, listens to your sweet voice.
And that enchanting laugh that, I swear to you, made my heart pound in my chest; for when I look at you, even a moment, I can no longer utter a word;
But my tongue shatters, and, beneath my skin, a thin fire is racing; my eyes are sightless, my ears buzz,
Sweat streams from my body, shivers run through me; I turn greener than the grass, and it’s almost as though I feel myself dying.”150
—Are you familiar with this?
* * *
Urt, August 18, 1977
No, I’m not in Venice, alas151—but in Urt, inexorably, where I received your card. It’s true—and I think of it with regret and remorse—that we no longer see each other; but my life has changed since my mother’s illness. Not only am I unavailable—but I feel cut off from the availability of others. Don’t forget me.
Your friend,
RB
11. Roland Barthes to Antoine Compagnon
The first mention of Antoine Compagnon’s name in Barthes’s diaries appears in May 1975. He participated in the first year of the seminar on amorous discourse (1974–75) and gave a talk titled “Music and Repetition.” During the second year, he proposed an exchange with Contardo Calligaris on the discourse of psychoanalysis. Antoine Compagnon was then a fellow at the Thiers Foundation, where he prepared his thesis on the citation, with Julia Kristeva as his advisor. Roland Barthes put him in charge of organizing and directing the Cerisy Colloquium that took place in June 1977, “Prétexte: Roland Barthes.” Subsequently, and after Barthes’s death, Compagnon wrote many texts on him, notably in his book, Les Antimodernes: De Joseph de Maistre à Roland Barthes (Gallimard, 2005). As professor at the Collège de France, Antoine Compagnon has, on many occasions, devoted majors sessions of his courses to his friend who preceded him there. From among the letters Barthes wrote to him, we have chosen a small, unified group involving the genesis of Fragments d’un discours amoureux.
* * *
Urt, June 23, 1976
My dear Antoine,
I just finished talking with you on the telephone. It’s 3 o’clock, and there is that sweet calm of the afternoon here; no household noises, no kids on the road, the sun behind the shutters, my workspace awaiting me. Everything would be perfect, truly, if, … for example, I knew it was possible to spend the evening with you. I have almost finished my hundred figures.152 According to some of them, I encounter you; either I might formulate things you’ve said to me (taught me), or here and there I might write a figure’s index thinking of you and, in short, of what is original (how to say this?) in our relationship. If this book is ever printed, you’ll recognize yourself in it, as in a rebus drawing, hidden and obvious in the tree. That is all very literary, but has literature ever served any purpose other than telling all without telling all? It alone can present the “slip” (the leftover, the badly said, the on-the-tip-of-the-tongue, kataleipsis and not katalepsis).153
Until soon, with love,
R.
Practical matter (that is to say, as always, a purely obsessional remark): save me a little time next week—from Tuesday to Saturday, no doubt.
* * *
Urt, Friday, June 25, 1976
My dear Antoine,
Your letter this morning gave me very great pleasure (in the ancient style, I would say, was very sweet to me) and I worked better because of it. I finished my “Figures,” and since yesterday I’ve begun the “Codes.”154 I’ve buried my head in the sand a bit regarding this part of the book, and I’m now distressed to see many problems, difficulties, choices, that is to say, irresolutions; I’m very close to knowing what I would like to do, but as always, I’m afraid of it. And once again, I come back to you, because my problem, I think, is close to your work.155 My problem is how to “comment on,” to refer, to anchor, to reinforce what I just wrote by putting forward as proof discourses other than “mine” (which is, to shake up this “mine”). I would really like you to tell me everything you have compiled, from history and in your head, on this subject, especially since what I need is a certain mirroring of practices, and that’s much of what you’ve focused on, isn’t it? My problem being to “existentialize” the reference, I thought a lot about those first pages of yours that you showed me (on the découpage-collage).156 I like them all the more for giving me courage (but, sadly, I never manage to say I without egotism, which was completely absent from your text and achieved a success that filled me with enthusiasm, you’ll recall). I would really love to see the rest of what you’ve done. If it’s not too much trouble, think about showing it to me: I need to see it.
We’ll continue this chat about work in person. I can’t wait to see you again, to talk travel with you. Let’s telephone each other Tuesday morning (in Paris); yes, I’m in a great hurry to see you and send you my love. R.
* * *
Urt, Saturday, June 26, 1976
A quick note to tell you that I made a little start on Lettura.157 I won’t get much further on it until my return, so it’s invaluable that you have written a great many pages. My laziness and my confidence would tempt me to let you do the whole thing, but I would like the pleasure of cosigning something with you. So don’t worry about having written too much; on the contrary that will be of great use to us. We must anticipate things to cut (and be able to do so) even insofar as we will have to adjust our two texts (disproportionate as they are).
Until Tuesday (by telephone)—in haste—and impatiently. R.
* * *
Urt, Monday afternoon, July 5, 1976
I’m writing to you in the midst of a terrible thunderstorm. Here, it’s “nature,” again, and, as everyone knows, it’s typical of nature to be disproportionate. Thunder booms from every side, already a torrent of water on the little road in front of the house, whirlwind in the plane trees—which I wouldn’t mind if they weren’t shaking the telephone lines dangerously (the town forgot to prune)—which makes me worry about another outage. By the time you arrive, I would like to have finished the revision of my hundred figures (but I doubt I’ll manage that) and prepared new fragments for our Lettura. I would also like to arrange the books in the house a little so that you can have a few reading pleasures during your stay. That’s the plan for this week. I’m looking forward to seeing you and send you love. R.
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