Roger PEYREFITTE. 10 L.A.S., [1941-1942], to Henry de Montherlant; 9 postcards of correspondence (1 page in-8 each filled with a tiny handwriting, with on the back addresses of the sender and the addressee), and 2 pages in-8 on the letterhead of the Grand Hôtel Taranne. Interesting correspondence to Montherlant, addressed to "M. Millon" (another patronymic of the writer), signed in the name of the sender (one "R.P. Fitte" and one "de St Phalle"), speaking in hushed tones of their liaisons and homosexual adventures, of Montherlant's new play The Dead Queen, and of his own novel Les Amitiés particulières. Toulon July 31 [1941]. "Here, complete change, completely disgusted, or rather annoyed. Unbearable character. I liquidated everything, without loss or fracas. Sighs at last. And aspires again, with full lungs, towards the known, appreciated and tested horizons. Scorn the new, if not for an hour, without return! "... August 12. "I have always told you that the result of our tingling was always to bring us closer together"... [September 13]. "Excellent trip. [...] Found a letter from Henry H[oussaye] confirming me that the illustrious V. [the editor Jean Vigneau] has done absolutely nothing for him; he will probably never do anything for anyone"... November 12, referring to the "Chevalier" [Henry Houssaye, who has just been arrested for a case of pedophilia]: "Regrets very much not being able to comfort him, - especially, I think, by telling him what would have happened on the other side of the wall (cf. Casanova during the torture of Damiens)"... Toulouse June 27 [1942]. "I am still laughing at the poem ("Give him something to eat, said the mother".) to eat "the good letter", naturally. But also I am not inclined to moan for you about the closure of Espinathie, which so many boys more than make up for"... June 29. He participates from afar in the successes of his friend, and confirms his arrival around the 14th, for Saint-Henry's day, "a small intimate party, at the home of Espinathie's rival". In Toulouse, it is "dull. I don't have much "head for it", because of my work. A gale incomprehension, which often made me [...] yearn for those Parisian horizons that you were darkening for me. Now that you paint them pink, it is the "masterpieces" and the "superb editions" that you disgust me. Where is the time when I said: my work (I did not claim yet to the masterpiece), it is a life. Too happy man who lead admirably both of them at the same time (will I have one day your know-how?), - the pen and the "sword"! "... September 12. "I applaud, from afar, the enrichments of the famous collection: the two new divinities inscribed under the numbers X and XVI seem to me to be pieces of choice, and which prove to me that there are only good antiquities from Paris. [...] I have decided, once again, to stick to what the antique dealers bring me at home: I have hung - not too high - my hunter's horns. The statuette that was almost delivered to you in Paris has delighted me several times, - and I could not decide its owner to deliver it to me in form: it comes and goes, it is fleeting "... Dorat September 29. He has delayed his return to Toulouse, and "hopes that you were not angry that you were seen from here as a little boy dressed in black velvet, and with blond curls. [...] Charm of the end of a vacation "parked cars"", with an account of a trip to Gergovie... Toulouse December 29. He waited to write until he knew what had become of the Major's case: "the complainant was convinced that she was a person of "bad character". The major was made white with his sword, as they used to say. Brave Major! There is a god for majors and for their order. - Letter from J.V. [the editor Jean Vigneau], who protests strongly against the change of title, and I surrender to his reason: you know my "versatility". In truth, it is that I have not found anything good in its place. So, the die is cast: I will be the author of A.P. [Amitiés particulières] Too bad! Or so much the better! [...] this book can have no other sign. And let's leave our friendship out of it. When you have read it, you will judge what you can do [...] once again, I declare that literature is one thing, friendship and life another. [...] I am mourning The Dead Queen - a vacant state from the point of view of personal struggle, at the moment"... Monday evening [December 1942?] Impossible to express his joy: "I have returned, from your little word, the kiss that in a dream I had received from you: the kiss of peace, of friendship, and of reconciliation. [...] That two beings having as many affinities as we do - suffer that I flatter myself a little - could get angry for more than eight days, - and, in the future, get angry for only one day, for only one moment, - it would be really too stupid. I am with you, as you say, like water on the shore; go away, and I am no more; I see only sand