Bonjour Tristesse & a Certain Smile

by Françoise Sagan

  ‘You seem anxious,’ remarked Françoise laughingly. ‘Would you like another drop of whisky?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Dominique already has a reputation for being a drunkard,’ said Bertrand. ‘Do you know why?’

  He leapt to his feet and came over to me in a self-important manner.

  ‘She has a rather short upper lip, so that when she drinks with her eyes closed it gives her a fervid look that has nothing to do with Scotch.’

  While speaking he had taken my upper lip between his thumb and forefinger. He was showing me to Françoise as if I were a puppy. I began to laugh and he let go of me just as Luc arrived.

  When I saw him I said to myself once again, but this time experiencing a painful sensation when I did so, that he was very handsome. It really did cause me some hurt, as did everything that I could not have. I rarely felt the desire to have anything, but in that instance the thought came to me very quickly that I would have liked to take that face of his in my hands, grip it violently with my fingers and press that full, rather elongated mouth against mine. Yet Luc wasn’t handsome. People were often to say that to me subsequently. But there was something about his features that meant that his face, which I had seen only twice, was a thousand times less strange to me than Bertrand’s, a thousand times less strange and more desirable than Bertrand’s, which I nonetheless liked.

  He came in, said hello to us and sat down. He could be amazingly still. I mean that there was something charged and restrained in the slow, casual way in which he gestured and moved that was disturbing. He looked at Françoise affectionately and I looked at him. I no longer remember what was said. Bertrand and Françoise did most of the talking. I am quite appalled, however, when I look back on those early stages. All I would have needed to do at that point to escape his attentions would have been to be a little cautious and a little distant. Now, on the contrary, I can’t wait to talk about the first time I was to be happy because of him. The very thought of describing those first moments, of trying briefly to overcome the inertness of mere words, fills me with a bitter, impatient joy.

  So we had lunch with Luc and Françoise. Then, in the street, I immediately fell into step with Luc, who walked briskly, and I forgot to keep step with Bertrand. Luc took my elbow to guide me across the road and I remember finding that awkward. I didn’t know what to do with my forearm, nor with the hand that hung dejectedly at the end of it, as if, below where Luc’s hand was placed on it, my arm was dead. I couldn’t think what I did about this when I was with Bertrand. Later on, Luc and Françoise took us to an outfitter’s and bought me a coat in a reddish woollen material. I was so astonished that I didn’t know either how to refuse it or how to thank them. When Luc was on the scene things moved very quickly, they really speeded up. Afterwards, time seemed to lapse back with a bump and be once again measured out in minutes, hours and cigarettes.

  Bertrand was furious with me for having accepted the coat. After we left them he made the most dreadful scene about it.

  ‘It’s absolutely incredible! Anyone could offer to give you anything and you wouldn’t refuse. You wouldn’t even be surprised!’

  ‘He’s not just anyone. He’s your uncle,’ I retorted, deliberately missing the point. ‘And in any case, I couldn’t have bought that coat for myself; it was horribly expensive.’

  ‘You could have gone without it, I imagine.’

  Over the previous couple of hours I had got used to wearing the coat; it suited me perfectly and I was rather horrified by that last comment of his. There was a kind of logic to things that escaped Bertrand. I told him as much and we quarrelled. The upshot was he took me back to his place without our first going for dinner, as a kind of punishment. For him, I knew, this ‘punishment’ provided the most intense and worthwhile moment of his day. Lying next to me, he kissed me with a sort of trembling respectfulness that I found both touching and alarming. I had preferred the relaxed light-heartedness we had enjoyed at the beginning of our relationship, and the young, animal nature of our embraces. But when he lay on me and sought me out impatiently, I forgot everything that wasn’t him or our murmuring together. It was the old Bertrand, and the same anguish and pleasure as before. Even today, especially today, that kind of happiness, that way of becoming lost in physical sensation, seems to me to be an incredible gift; yet at the same time it seems quite derisory when compared to my capacity for thought and my ability to feel emotion – those things, for me, are the true essentials.

  Three

  There were other meals, with either just the four of us or friends of Luc’s. Then Françoise went away to spend ten days with friends of hers. I had already come to like her; she was extremely considerate towards others, she was very kind and she was confident in her kindness, though occasionally she was afraid of not understanding people, and that appealed to me more than anything. She was like the earth, reassuring like the earth, and sometimes childlike. She and Luc laughed a lot together.

  We saw her off at the Gare de Lyon.5 I was less intimidated than I had been at the start, I was almost relaxed. In fact, I was thoroughly cheerful, for the complete disappearance of my boredom, which until then I hadn’t dared call by its name, was bringing about a pleasant change in me. I was becoming lively and could sometimes even be amusing. It seemed to me that this state of affairs could last for ever. I had grown accustomed to Luc’s face, and the sudden emotions it aroused in me from time to time seemed to me to be based on aesthetic considerations or on simple affection. At the door of the carriage Françoise was smiling.

  ‘Look after him for me,’ she said to us.

  The train pulled away. On our way back Bertrand stopped to buy some literary-political journal or other which would give him an excuse to get indignant. All at once Luc turned to me and said very quickly:

  ‘Shall we have dinner together tomorrow?’

  I was about to reply: ‘Fine. I’ll just ask Bertrand,’ but he cut me short and said: ‘I’ll phone you,’ and, turning towards Bertrand who had just then rejoined us, he asked:

  ‘Which journal do you buy?’

  ‘I couldn’t see the one I wanted,’ said Bertrand. ‘We’ve got a class now, Dominique. I think we’d better hurry.’

  He had taken my arm and was holding on to me. He and Luc were eyeing each other with mutual suspicion. I stood there feeling disconcerted. With Françoise away, everything was becoming confused and disagreeable. I still have a painful memory of that first sign of Luc’s interest in me, for, as I’ve indicated, I had taken to wearing a fine pair of blinkers. I had a sudden desire to see Françoise again; she was like a protective rampart. I realized that the foursome we had formed had only ever rested on rigged foundations and that dismayed me, for, like all those who find it easy to tell lies, I was sensitive to atmosphere and sincere about playing any role that I assumed.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift,’ said Luc casually.

  He had a fast, open-topped car which he handled well. We said nothing on the journey except, on parting company: ‘See you again very soon.’

  ‘All things considered, I’m relieved that she’s gone away,’ said Bertrand. ‘You can’t always be seeing the same people.’

  This comment of his cut Luc out of our plans, but I didn’t point that out to him. I was becoming wary.

  ‘And then, after all,’ Bertrand went on, ‘they’re a bit on the old side, don’t you think?’

  I did not reply and we went and took our seats for Brême’s lecture on the ethics of Epicurus.6 I listened to it for a while, sitting quite still … Luc wanted to have dinner alone with me. That was probably what was meant by happiness. I spread my fingers out on the bench and felt my mouth curve up in an irrepressible little smile. I turned my head away so that Bertrand wouldn’t see it. This lasted for a moment before I said to myself: ‘You are flattered, that’s only natural.’ I still had a young person’s healthy reactions: burn your boats, meet the situation head-on, just don’t let yourself be taken in.


  The next day I decided that dinner with Luc was bound to be fun and would not lead to anything further. I pictured him showing up looking ardent and declaring his love for me on the spot. He arrived a little late, looking preoccupied, and all I wanted was for him to show some anguish on account of this impromptu tête-à-tête of ours. He did nothing of the kind. He talked quite calmly about this and that, with an ease that I ended up sharing. He was probably the first person ever to have made everything feel comfortable and entirely unproblematic for me. Then he suggested that we go somewhere to dance and have dinner and he took me to Sonny’s. He met some friends there and they joined us, and it struck me that I was a little fool, and very vain, for having for one instant thought that he would have wanted to be alone with me.

  Looking at the women at our table, I also realized that I lacked elegance and sparkle. In short, towards midnight nothing much was left of the youthful femme fatale I had for a whole day imagined myself to be, just a shattered wreck trying to hide her dress and inwardly calling for Bertrand, in whose eyes at least she was beautiful.

  Luc’s friends were talking about liver salts and the boon they were ‘the morning after the night before’. So there was a whole set of people out there who took liver salts, who woke up thinking of their bodies as marvellous playthings which they could wear out having fun and then dose with enthusiasm. Perhaps I should give up books and conversation and walks, and head for a place where the pleasures of money and frivolity and other absorbing distractions could be enjoyed. Perhaps I should acquire the means to do so and myself become a thing of beauty. Did Luc actually like these people?

  Turning to me with a smile, he asked me to dance. He took me in his arms and settled me there gently, with my head against his chin. We danced. I was conscious of his body against mine.

  ‘You find these people boring, don’t you?’ he said. ‘The women all twitter a lot.’

  ‘I didn’t know what a real nightclub was like,’ I said. ‘I’m dazzled.’

  He broke into laughter.

  ‘You’re funny, Dominique. I find you very amusing. Let’s go on somewhere else to talk, come on.’

  We left Sonny’s. Luc took me to a bar in Rue Marbeuf and we got started on some serious drinking. Apart from the fact that I liked drinking whisky, I knew it was the only thing that got me talking a bit. Before long Luc struck me as a very pleasant, attractive man and not at all intimidating. I even felt an easy-going tenderness towards him.

  We quite naturally got to talking about love. He said that it was a good thing, less important than people made out, but that you had to be loved and, yourself, love quite ardently in order to be happy. I nodded in agreement. He told me that he was very happy because he loved Françoise very much and she loved him very much too. I congratulated him, assuring him that it did not surprise me and that he and Françoise were very, very nice people. I was sinking into sentimentality.

  ‘Having said that,’ said Luc, ‘I would very much like to have an affair with you.’

  I began to laugh foolishly. I didn’t know how to react.

  ‘And what about Françoise?’ I said.

  ‘I might tell Françoise. She likes you a lot, you know.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ I said. ‘And anyway, I’m not sure, it’s not the kind of thing you tell people.’

  I felt indignant. Moving constantly from one state of mind to another was beginning to wear me out. It seemed to me both hugely natural and hugely improper that Luc should be suggesting we go to bed together.

  ‘There’s something there, in a kind of way,’ said Luc seriously. ‘I mean something between us. God knows that, generally speaking, I don’t go in for little girls like you. But you and I are two of a kind. What I mean is that it would make some sense, it wouldn’t just be banal. Anyway, think about it.’

  ‘That’s what I’ll do,’ I said, ‘I’ll think about it.’

  I must have looked pitiful. Luc bent over and kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘My poor darling,’ he said. ‘You’re in a bad way. If only you had a smattering of basic morality. But you haven’t, any more than I have. And you’re nice. And you really like Françoise. And you find it less boring to be with me than with Bertrand. Ah, isn’t that you in a nutshell?’

  He burst out laughing. I was annoyed. Later on I was always to feel a bit resentful when Luc began what he called summing up. On that occasion I let him see that I was annoyed.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Nothing in that realm is really of any importance. I do like you, I do like you a lot. We’ll have great fun together. Just fun.’

  ‘I detest you,’ I said.

  I had adopted a sepulchral voice and we both began to laugh. This sense of collusion, which it had taken just two or three minutes to establish, seemed somehow disreputable to me.

  ‘Now I’m going to take you back,’ said Luc. ‘It’s very late. Or, if you like, we can go to the Quai de Bercy7 to watch the sun come up.’

  We drove to the Quai de Bercy. Luc stopped the car. The sky was white above the Seine, which was sitting among its cranes like a sad child among its toys. The sky was white, with patches of grey. It rose to meet the day above the silent houses, the bridges and the scrap iron, slowly and unstoppably, with the same effort it made every morning. Beside me Luc was smoking; he said nothing and his silhouette was perfectly still. I held out my hand, he took it and we drove slowly back to the family-run residence. When we got to the door he let my hand go, I got out and we smiled at each other. Once indoors I collapsed into bed, thought then that I should have got undressed, should have washed my stockings and put my dress on a hanger, and promptly fell asleep.

  Four

  I awoke with the unpleasant sense of having an urgent problem to resolve. For what Luc was in fact proposing was just a game, an enticing game, but, even so, one that could destroy my undoubtedly quite genuine feelings for Bertrand; and it could destroy something else within me, something ill-defined but fiercely felt, which, whether I liked it or not, was opposed to transience. Or, at the very least, to the intentionally transient nature of what Luc was offering. And then, even if I was only able to conceive of any passion or liaison as being short-lived, I couldn’t accept in advance that it had to be that way. Like any individual for whom life is a series of charades, I could bear the charades only if they were written by me, and by me alone.

  Moreover, I knew very well that this game – if you could call it a game, if there can be merely a game between two people who are really attracted to each other and who glimpse in each other a chance to relieve their loneliness, even temporarily – this game was a dangerous one. It was essential not to pretend foolishly to be stronger than I was. From the point at which I was ‘tamed’, as Françoise put it, from the point at which I was countenanced and wholly accepted by Luc, I would not be able to leave him without suffering. Bertrand was incapable of anything other than loving me. When I told myself that, I felt tender towards Bertrand but it did not stop me from thinking about Luc. For when all is said and done, at least when you are young, nothing in life’s long swindle seems more desperately desirable than a spirit of recklessness. Besides, I had never decided anything for myself. I had always been decided on by others. Why not once more let myself be on the receiving end? There would be Luc’s charm to add to the daily tedium and to the evenings. Everything would happen of its own accord; there was no point in trying to fathom things out.

  Feeling blissfully complacent at having resigned myself to the inevitable, I took myself off to class where I met up with Bertrand and our friends and we then all went to have lunch in Rue Cujas. Yet although every day was like this, it seemed to me abnormal. My proper place was with Luc. This was how I was vaguely feeling when Jean-Jacques, a friend of Bertrand’s, launched into some sarcastic comments about me looking dreamy.

  ‘It can’t be true, Dominique: you’re in love! Bertrand, what have you done to this girl? Her mind is elsewhere. Have you turned her into a Princesse de C
lèves?’8

  ‘I know nothing about it,’ said Bertrand.

  I looked at him and saw that he had gone red. He avoided my stare. It was quite unbelievable: he had been my ally and had kept me company for the past year and suddenly he had become my adversary! I made to move towards him. I would have liked to say: ‘Bertrand, honestly, you really mustn’t suffer, it’s too sad, I don’t want you to.’ Idiotically I would even have added: ‘Anyway, remember those summer days we shared, and those winter days, and those times in your room, all of that can’t just be erased in three weeks, it doesn’t make sense.’ And I would have liked him to agree with me vehemently, to reassure me and to take up my theme. For he loved me. But he was not what you would call a real man. In some men, including Luc, you could sense a strength that neither Bertrand nor any of those other very young men possessed. Yet it had nothing to do with experience …

  ‘Stop annoying Dominique!’ said Catherine with her usual bossiness. ‘Come on, Dominique, men are such boors. Let’s go and have coffee together.’

  Once outside, she informed me that there wasn’t much the matter, that essentially Bertrand was very attached to me and that I was not to worry about his little bouts of ill humour. I did not protest. After all, it was better that Bertrand should not be humiliated in the eyes of our friends. As for me, I was sick of their talk, their tales of which boys were going out with which girls, all that puerile stuff supposedly to do with love. I was sick of their little dramas. But still, there was Bertrand and Bertrand’s pain, and that was not negligible. Everything was happening so quickly. I could scarcely be said to have dropped Bertrand and already they were talking about it and analysing the situation, and in so doing they were driving me, through sheer irritation, to hasten on and ratchet up what might otherwise have been merely a passing distraction.