Françoise Sagan - Bonjour Tristesse and a Certain Smile

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. 5I 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. 6I 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.