Letter from Edward Renouf to Anny Schey von Koromla

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La Pikina

1 August

My very dearest Annerl!

Although I don’t yet know where I should send this letter, inwardly I feel so close to you that I must write to make this beautiful evening hour more intimate and convivial for myself with a bit of chit-chat. The wine seller came by this evening with a crate on his shoulders and he’s lined up ten superb bottles for me in the cellar. A few days ago the good fellow walked past the Villa Sainte Anna with the same heavy crate on his shoulders, on and on, looking for ‘la Pikina de Monsieur Renouf’, but no-one knew what he meant, and so he walked almost all the way up to ‘Beate’s cottage’, sweating as he went. I went to see him today and drew him a map to show him exactly where I’m staying. Josephine had only told him I was staying ‘at Sainte Anne’, and the good fellow was worried for me that the wine hadn’t been delivered. But it’s here now! And to celebrate its arrival I went to the butcher and got myself a schnitzel and a large loaf of homemade bread. What a meal! Risotto made with rice, tomato, onion, romaine lettuce, green peppers and peppercorns, schnitzel cooked in olive oil with fried onions, bread and Vin de la Gaude! A dinner for the gods! And all rounded off nicely with a Diplomat cigar! (The onions, which I devour at least twice a day, serve no protective purpose because no-one around here is likely to look in on me.) You know what, Annerl? With every sip of wine and every puff of the cigar I say a silent prayer that you’ll be able to resolve all your problems, particularly your own internal issues, and that you won’t forever be so desperate and despondent. You’re always saying there’s so much that needs to change. But no! There’s just one thing that needs to change: it’s the possessiveness that has to go, because that’s the source of all these negative emotions, all this unhappiness. It’s strange how the same sense of possession grew in me and made me so unhappy back then (or rather how I made myself so unhappy), whereas you hardly felt such feelings at all. But now I’ve survived and overcome those feelings – and overcoming them hasn’t led to any sense of abatement, thawing or estrangement. On the contrary, I feel as though my relationship to you is now closer and more intimate than ever before, with more love and understanding than ever before. It’s not like it was back then. There are fewer expectations now, more independence, a peaceful inner equilibrium. Can’t you see that? Passions are overbearing, vain, full of suspicion, they bring you down as far as they raise you up, they turn understanding into prejudice, they blind you, make you impatient and vulnerable, they twist every little trifle into madness and are never to be relied upon, not under any circumstances. It's only once the passions have burnt out that love can take root and grow up from the ashes, a love that’s deep, serene, undemanding, understanding, a love that grows and grows because it’s not overly vigorous, blindingly tall, colourful, showy and fleeting. Instead it courses almost imperceptibly through your entire being, living and growing with you. That’s the sort of love I have for you, Annerl. And that’s why I’m quietly confident as I look to the future, because I know, as far as I’m concerned, at least, that our relationship won’t become any weaker or less intimate. Over the years it will only become stronger, more trusting, even more meaningful than it is today or has been in the past. Please believe me! Please! It pains me to think you might be spending your days in doubt and despondency. It pains me to think you could become so estranged from me that we might not be able to bridge the gap again. For me such estrangement would mean the irreplaceable destruction of so much joy, hope and ambition, so many happy memories. Besides, it’s hard to believe in the necessity of unhappiness or doubt or the slightest embitterment, because we’re here, Annerl – you, me, your kids – all good people, like Mireille and Sandy and God knows who else besides, in this wonderful, diverse and infinitely interesting world. And we love each other and understand each other without even thinking or asking questions or arguing . . . . . . . . . because we all belong to the same species, we have the same human soul . . . . . . . . . . How could we ever drive each other crazy, how could we argue about the relative importance of René Fülöp-Miller, about whether Jacob really is called Jacob, talking past each other the whole time and actually being mad enough to believe that what we’re saying is important and that it might somehow shape our fate, as though we’d been hexed by some vexatious evil spirit . . . . . . . . ?????????? We need not and must not irritate each other. That’s all. And we’ll never have to again once the curse of this possessiveness is broken and done away with, and we can give each other the gifts that the moment gives us, liberated in love and understanding . . . . . be it a few words at a café or a gift for the moonlight and the song of the nightingale . . . . . . And if we could just make each other happier and stronger without causing suffering . . . . . . . I know, Annerl, that from another point of view the opposite of everything I say here is also true, and I well remember the time when I would have said that all this is nonsense, calumny, sophism. But I think I’m further along now than I was then, I see more clearly, that these ‘truths’ are ‘truer’ than their opposites


7 August

Dearest Annerl!

I’ve just got your address from Beaterl, so I’ll send you this letter in a moment. By the way, I also sent a letter to Limone, Hotel Europa. Perhaps they didn’t forward it to you? Beaterl also wrote that there was nothing wrong with you, thank goodness, other than the tail end of a nasty bacterial infection. I do hope you’ll get over this beast of a bug soon!

The work is coming along famously, with just the occasional evening on the square or at Georgi’s place, with his friends from elsewhere. Otherwise I’m completely undisturbed here at my place. The stifling heat also seems to have passed now. My housework is done in a jiffy here. I’ve also written several long, urgent letters to my family, so I now have that burden off my conscience. You can’t imagine how much I’m looking forward to moving to Paris and going to see that agent (the friend of Mireille’s) with a thick, hefty bundle of manuscripts under my arm! But that won’t be until October at the earliest, perhaps even November. When the time does come, though, it will be adieu to Cagnes from me and all my books! Will you be in Paris? That would be marvellous!

Please write to me, Annerl! I’m focussed on my work, but I think of you often, very often. You can hardly know just how much I want you to be well and at ease and happy, and that you’ll remain forever attached to me.

All sorts of kisses,

Yours,

Etl

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