"J'accepte d'être en secret mis à ma place et, publiquement, remis à ma place."

Autograph letter dated and signed by Jean Cocteau, 26 lines in blue ink, to Olivier Quéant, editor of the magazine Plaisir de France, sent from villa Santo-Sospir.
Fold marks inherent to postal handling.
Quéant, journalist and notably editor of the magazine Plaisir de France, maintained a fine friendly and literary correspondence with the writer. He notably delivered a glowing review of Antigone at its premiere in 1944: "depuis Racine, l'on avait rien écrit d'aussi beau, d'aussi grand et d'aussi profondément humain" (since Racine, nothing so beautiful, so great and so profoundly human had been written) (L'Illustration).
Jean Cocteau, at the twilight of his life, rebels and complains about his diminished and merely symbolic role in French theater of the 1950s. The second sentence of this letter will be taken up almost word for word in the famous verses of his longest poem Requiem (1962): "Il est juste qu'on m'envisage / Après m'avoir dévisagé" (It is right that I should be considered / After having been stared at) which will also serve as his epitaph. Despite official recognition, Cocteau felt until his death "méconnu, inconnu, invisible" (misunderstood, unknown, invisible) (Jean Cocteau sur le fil du siècle, 2003) - a malaise masterfully expressed through these lines.

"Voilà plusieurs années que j'accepte d'être en secret mis à ma place et, publiquement remis à ma place. Bref de n'être pas envisagé mais dévisagé. Il est beau de recevoir des lettres "retournées" où Anouilh me dit "Sans vos pièces je n'aurais pas écrit une ligne des miennes" et Giraudoux "Rilke avait raison. Nos figures blanches à côté du hâle de tes séjours dans l'antiquité." Il est beau d'être comme le Pisanelle - enterré sous les roses [...]" (For several years I have accepted being secretly put in my place and publicly put back in my place. In short, not being considered but stared at. It is beautiful to receive "returned" letters where Anouilh tells me "Without your plays I would not have written a line of mine" and Giraudoux "Rilke was right. Our pale faces beside the tan of your sojourns in antiquity." It is beautiful to be like Pisanello - buried under roses [...])

Interesting and touching missive from Cocteau, with disordered and furious handwriting, twisting and stretching in the manner of a calligram.