Louis-Ferdinand CÉLINE. 9L.A.S. "LF" or "LFC" (a "LFCéline"), [Korsør January-February 1950], to his friend the publisher Jean-Gabriel Daragnès; 35pages in-fol. Long letters before his trial (February 21). 3rd [January]. "Oh oui mon cher vieux, ça pue. The Drappier [magistrate] is fiddling with an express knot rope, where I'll be hanged in the greatest silence. It won't do me much good to go round afterwards, the damage will be done, and at my age and in my condition, definitively. [...] Is this the Dreyfus trial in Samedi-Soir? Not a word of truth! Burlesque enormities to flatter the jackals! I'm the one who had St Malo wiped out!"... He talks about his stays in Saint-Malo and Rennes, where his daughter was born... There's "especially literary hatred" against him, especially from Mauriac, "a 'bad priest' a 'gnawed faggot who never dared'", and from Mac Orlan, a contributor to La Continentale... "There has to be someone impaled in Literature. That would be me. Then everyone will breathe!"... 16th [January]. "I knew you were a hell of an artist, but now you've got me in a statue enough to make the entire Maison de la Culture burst! It has to be copied and distributed... "The bad thing is that it's also going to make my jackals' hatred sizzle in an atomic way! The Drappier is going to flinch, he's going to PoncePilater me and one way or another. Fear of the Commies petrifies the bourgeoisie and their magistrates. They stand before Humanité like rabbits before Python. They're waiting to be eaten alive"... January 23. "It's a conviction by order - so there's nothing to chew on. [...] I'll receive this indictment and reply [...] but it won't change a thing. They're clinging to imaginary ass hairs of crime. I've replied to Seltensperger a thousand times, and he advised that the case be dismissed. He had to withdraw... The hired youtrons, the industrialists of the Épuration will never let me go. Well, we can try to piss them off, that's all"... 30th [January]. "The infamy campaign is in full swing! All the jackals are barking!" Reaction to an article by Roger Vailland, who deplores "not having shot me down on my own staircase - without further ado - with his own brand of justice, above the law. He promises to do better next time. He writes it down. He denies Vailland's testimony, having never received the journalists (Laubreaux, Brasillach, Cousteau...) from Je suis partout at his home... February 4th. "Your deposition plan seems excellent to me, but perhaps a little ideological - would you add that I am a pacifist French patriot. That war for me is the most horrible catastrophe. That I thought the Jews, certain Jewish publicists, were launching us into war, and that I reacted in my own outrageous, burlesque way - but I never stopped anyone from replying to me in the same ink that I was bullshitting. I don't write the gospel! I didn't call for the death of any Jew - I asked them to temper their hysteria and not to launch us into a war that I judged to be lost in advance, and which would be the final annihilation of France. [...] Do I have two homelands like the Jews? [...] I only care about the French Patriote Patriote Patriote pacifist - that's all, absolutely all. I didn't give a damn about Hitler or Blum. [...] I'm from the land of Couperin, of Vallès - not at all Germanizing oh la la the horror!"... Etc. Friday 10th [February]. He rectifies his defense according to Me Naud's instructions, and has a medical certificate drawn up. He gives details of his work at the Bezons dispensary, a back-breaking and poorly paid chore; he never wanted to take Dr. Hogarth's place, it was Dr. Hogarth who wanted to leave... February 11th. Lemaître must testify that he "saw and heard me insulting collaborating doctors"... February 14th. "The pot is boiling and I'm going to be thrown into it on the 21st. All those "Hitler's ungrateful" who would be nothing, who would never have been anything, without the coming of this Walkherian madman, the builders, the suppliers, the 20 million real collaborators, those, more or less, earthy asses with washing machines, prefects of the Resistance and other Farges Vercors and consorts, they need my carne my remains to pass the monstrous nutmeg: of them nothing at all little shits become, by Hitler's grace, immense heroes, artistissimes patriotissimes!"Etc. 16th [February]. "What's it all about in the end? Whether I collaborated? You can't let yourself