Witches’ Sabbath by Maurice Sachs

“If the reader grants with me that the whole of our life is nothing more than an attempt to fulfill the dreams of our youth, he will understand that it is possible to search throughout the whole of one’s life for a happiness one has enjoyed as a child.” 

I came across the name Maurice Sachs (Maurice Ettinghausen) while reading a review at Book Around the Corner. Sachs sounded like an intriguing character–one of those almost people. Never really the first rank of anything but always hanging on the fringes of the Paris literati. He was born to a Jewish family in 1906. He later converted to Catholicism, and led a rather colourful bohemian life which included a fair amount of scandal and financial skullduggery. During the German Occupation of France, he was part of the forced enlistment of the STO: Service du Travail Obligatoire (Compulsory Work Service). This was conducted under the Vichy government with the result that hundreds of thousands of Frenchmen were shipped to Germany as a labour force.   

There is very little information about Sachs in English on the internet, and some of it is false. According to articles I read, once Sachs was part of the STO he was employed by the Gestapo as a paid informer.  Apparently he ratted people out to the Gestapo but ended up in Fuhlsbuttel prison/concentration camp after refusing to denounce a Jesuit priest. Other articles said that the Gestapo were fed up with Sachs’s false reports. Considering the degree of vilification, it’s all rather vague. The stories of Sachs’ s death are as muddied as some aspects of his life. One version has him lynched by other prisoners he’d informed against, and that after his death he was fed to the dogs, but that version has been debunked. Apparently, in 1945 he was shot while being marched by the SS as they retreated from Fuhlsbuttel; his body was left on the side of the road.

I was intrigued by all this information as it hooks into some of the questions I have about what really went on in France under the Nazi occupation. There are a number of figures whose actions remain murky–were they informers or collaborators or was this a cover for something else? I’ve never lived under an occupation, but this all reminds me of Simenon’s life under German occupation in WWI. Just what is legal and what is illegal shifts according to who makes the rules, and Simenon’s Three Crimes is a wonderful exploration of how some people exploited occupation for their own gains.

But back to Sachs. One of the reasons I read the memoir was because I hoped for clarification on Sachs’s role as an informer. Some sources state that Sachs “made money” by helping Jewish families escape. But then wasn’t it expensive to get the necessary documents? How much did he charge? What was the going rate? How many Jews did he assist to escape? Or did he just take the money and inform against them? There are probably no answers to these questions but at the same time I thought of Dr. Petiot, the mass murderer who in WWI German-occupied France also promised safe passage to S. America, but the Jews who paid his asking price ended up in an incinerator. Was Sachs simply a weak man who sold out his compatriots or did he play a dangerous double game by walking on both sides of the fence? In one sense Sachs doesn’t seem the hero type, but then again, if he played a double game, perhaps it’s difficult to tell just what was in his head. But I can’t erase the fact that he was forced labour for the Nazis, was then stuck in a prison for at least some failure of cooperation only to end up being shot in the head right before the war’s conclusion.

So I came to the memoir expecting some answers. In terms of my expectations I was disappointed. There’s virtually no clarification about exactly what Sachs was up to before his arrest. The book was finished in 1939 with a later (1942) 3 page postscript added. Perhaps if he’d survived he would have modified the memoirs. 

So what is the memoir? It’s a strange hodge-podge of gut-wrenching honesty in which Sachs lays bare his soul while admitting his many flaws and mistakes. But it’s also a study in avoidance. I don’t necessarily blame him for that avoidance; if I had to write a memoir, I’d gloss over some stuff I’d rather not think about or perhaps not even mention it at all. That’s the problem with memoirs. A memoir is a trade-off. We only get one-side, one version in which events may be cherry picked–whereas a well-researched bio will dig into the darkest secrets. Bottom line, I concluded I’d probably have been better off reading a biography of Sachs rather than his memoir.

The book’s strength is in its aphorisms. I could go through the book and select witty and wise sayings galore (along the lines of a minor Oscar Wilde):

Elegance, pleasure, etc., are ruinous tastes which one escapes only by intense specialization or by mediocrity.

I regard myself as a bad example capable of giving good advice.

Theft is as irresistible as physical desire can be on certain nights.

Maurice Sachs’s parents divorced when he was a young child, and this caused some financial hardships. Sachs’s mother sounds feckless and was not much of a money manager, but then again it sounds as though she acted in adulthood exactly as she’d been raised (spend and don’t worry about bills). When Sachs was a teenager, his mother, heavily in debt and facing arrest for writing a rubber cheque for 60,000 francs, swallowed poison (reminds me of Madame Bovary). The poison swallowed was an “insufficient dose” for death; she recovered and Sachs sold his mother’s last piece of jewelry in order to get her out of France before she was arrested. It was, he says:

“The best thing I’ve ever done in my life up to that point, the only human and valuable gesture of my whole existence.”

Yet he was castigated by the rest of the family who “would have prefered” Sachs to take the side of “economic morality.” Sachs adds the details that the cheque was written to “one of the richest men in France,” and that if anything he was the one most wounded by his mother’s fecklessness since he was bankrupted and lost, through his mother’s mismanagement, 700,000 francs “she legally administered.” The incident with Sachs’s mother involving the rubber cheque sets the stage for Sachs’s later attitude towards financial responsibility& debts.  

He recalls being “penniless in the middle of a rich family.” He admits stealing “two sous” as a child from the bag of wealthy visiting relatives in order to buy a tart, but repeat thefts illuminated that the thrill came from  “the anguished delight of the theft” and not the anticipated “craving for an almond tart.” Perhaps being surrounded by those who lacked nothing gave him a taste for luxury while he lacked the necessary means and drive to achieve this lifestyle. Sachs recalls wishing that he had been born a girl, and from this he draws the conclusion that he was predisposed to homosexuality. Sachs, however, did have a few brief adult liaisons with women but found them unfulfilling when compared to his homosexual relationships. Sachs details his childhood, his adolescence, his giddy youth, time in a seminary and his military service, yet he remains deliberately vague when it comes to his relations with some of the great names of the day. When finally unleashed in the salons of Paris and as a frequenter of Le-Boeuf-sur-le-Toit,  Sachs’s charm and fine connections explain why the doors of Paris salons opened to him. Repeatedly.

At times he is mercilessly honest about his character flaws. At one point, he’s barely eating, selling books, when he’s yanked out of poverty and given a job as a secretary which includes room and board. Sachs admits he misused the opportunity, getting into debt and not caring much about his employment. At another point in his varied career, he started a publishing business with Jacques Bonjean. He missed a great opportunity when he failed to publish All Quiet on The Western Front–a book he’d received from Count Kessler via Misia Sert. In typical Sachs style, he admits that the book sat on his desk for four months “during which I had neither the curiosity of the presence of mind to have it read by someone who knew German.”  Later, Sachs gets a job as Chanel’s secretary and claims there was a “misunderstanding.” Other sources state that he stole from her.

There are times when Sachs writes with deep regret and a sense of shame:

The Maurice Sachs who has left irritating memories in the minds of some (and some good impressions in the minds of others, and a mixture of the two elsewhere), the shady, evasive, scheming drunken, prodigal, chaotic curious, affectionate, generous, and impassioned Maurice Sachs  who has always taken shape somewhat in spite of myself, but with my complicity, and who has produced this occasionally repugnant, often attractive personality to which I give so much importance because it is, after all, myself, that Maurice Sachs whom I have since mistreated, humiliated, deprived, then encouraged to do better, whose worse defects I have tried to canalize, whose defects I have tried to develop, this man whose human dignity, along with its attendant virtues, I have never despaired of (since he mattered more to me than anyone else), this man doesn’t bear my true name, but whose circumstances I can no longer change to give him my own because we have come too far together, this Maurice Sachs whose hand along with mine I hope is writing here the confession that closes a cycle of our lives….

While parts of the memoir assume a confessional tone, Sachs is clearly seeking understanding from the reader.

Nothing is this book will be comprehensible if the reader does not admit a constant duality in being, more punctilious, more complicated in its workings than the opposition, in each of us, of good and evil, a doubleness of each of the soul’s impulses:

There’s a self-loathing here that lingers beneath Sachs’s words. He recognised the duality of his nature but seemed unable to control the characteristics that dragged him down, but merged with that self-loathing is no small degree of self-delusion. We see opportunities handed to Sachs squandered, but still he continues on a roller-coaster ride of fortune.

I’ll admit that as an Anglo reader, I missed some aspects of the book. References to René Blum, Jean Couteau, Gide, and Max Jacob had me turning to the internet and some phrases were not translated. Now after reading the book, I have the impression that I saw but a glimpse of Sachs, and this glimpse is distorted–slightly out-of focus.

Book Around the Corner and I decided to read Witches Sabbath and post our reviews at the same time. This is an exercise in alternate reactions to the same material, so check out her response for another opinion

Translated by Richard Howard



Filed under Non Fiction, Sachs Maurice

14 responses to “Witches’ Sabbath by Maurice Sachs

  1. That’s great, our reviews are really complementary and you’re really better than me at explaining contexts.
    I knew the memoirs were written before WWII, so I didn’t expect anything about his behaviour during that dark period.

    I agree with what you say about aphorisms : I have tons of quotes. His conversation must have been witty, funny and really untertaining. In Au Temps du Boeuf sur le Toit, the text was full of energy. I expected energy in the memoirs and I heard someone worn out mentally and physically.
    I really wonder what is true and what is false in this. He’s like a conjuror, a crook, a “beau parleur”.
    What did you think about his trip in America?

  2. I thought his trip to America was just another example of him looking for some sort of short cut, escape and regeneration. As you know he ends the memoirs saying that he’s going away again for another of those fresh beginnings. Agree that he does sound worn with everyhting.

    • With his tour in America, he made me think of these people who were going from one place to another selling miracle syrups and all sorts of things. Maybe it’s a cliché.
      Do you think that this place in Morpheus where the old families lived between walls really existed? It reminded me of these secured neighbourhoods for retirees in Florida.
      I hated what he did to Gwladys but at the same time, she knew she wasn’t marrying for love. Either she was as crazy as him or really desperate to leave her family.

      For me he has really the character of a gambler. He thinks as long as he plays, he has a chance to win. He’s ready to lose everything just because he thinks luck can change.

      • Yes I am sure he described Morpheus well. There are some strange, insular communities (founded on religion) all over, so it doesn’t really surprise me or make me think it’s strange or fabricated. What’s strange is that Sachs went along with it with marrying into that family. What the hell was he thinking? At times he had a strange desire to be what he thought was ‘normal’, and this was no doubt a rejection of his homosexuality (which of course did not work). He did his wife a big favour by ducking out–even if he was a coward about it.

        • I wonder what has become of her. I’m not sure he was rejecting his homosexuality. He would have wanted a home and a housewife. And as a manwife wasn’t possible at the time, he ended up marrying a woman.
          He loved San Francisco in the 1930s. He would have loved it even more in the 1960s.
          He was ahead of his time, he would have been successful in the second half of the century.

          • I saw him as a person that was never fully comfortable with aspects of himself and that (I thought) I saw manifested through his ridiculous marriage and his conversion to Catholicism (which seems in no small part influenced by his relationship with the priest who converted him. But then he (in chapter 13), he goes on to say that “if I were some day to worship him again, I would not praise him in the Catholic Churches, nor the Protestant ones…blah blah. I would return to the temple of my fathers to pray with the Jews.”

            I wonder about his acceptance/rejection of homosexuality as he states that he disgusts himself. Can this all be ascribed to his financial affairs?

            I agree. He would have been happy if he’d been born a few decades later.

            • I don’t think at all that he disgusts himself because of his homosexuality.
              He is disgusted to be lazy, a thief, a crook. He wishes he were a better man and that’s why he converts to Catholicism. (see the beginning of chapter 11). It’s not the religion, it’s Maritain. He was obviously a good person and Sachs (only 20 when he went to the seminary), always looking for a male model, thought Maritain was a good person because he was a Catholic. So he converted to attract this goodness, these qualities on him. He says it somewhere that he confused Maritain’s inner qualities with religion.
              He always hopes to change not into a straight man but into an honest or virtuous man. (hence the desastrous meeting with Gide)
              For the marriage, I don’t think he did it for himself. He saw an opportunity to be chivalrous and as he’s always tempted by grant actions, he proposed.

              PS : there’s Le Crime est notre affaire on the French TV. I re-watched the scene with Dussolier in a kilt and you really need to find this film.

  3. Is anyone else allowed to comment here or is this a tête-à-tête? Then again, I don’t really have anything to add, except that this is a fascinating review about someone I hadn’t heard of. I love the aphorisms you selected – particularly the bad example one which is a much nice way of saying “do as I say not as i do”!

    The whole collaboration issue is a murky one isn’t it. I ‘ve just read a rather beautiful novel called The lakewoman by Australian poet/novelist Alan Gould, and the main female character was denounced by her community as a collaborator. The truth though was, of course, nowhere near that simple. (It is though a novel, and this issue is not its main subject – but its just another case of reading synchronicities).

    • Jump in, feel free, join the party.

      This is not the only time the question of whether or not someone was a collaborator has raised its head during my reading. I get the impression that Sachs’s infamy is such that people would rather forget he existed.

      • Seen from my window, Sachs is not as famous as Brasillach or Drieu La Rochelle. Then there is Céline but it’s different because forgetting him would also mean turning our backs on a great writer.
        Forgetting Sachs, Brasillach or Drieu La Rochelle isn’t a loss for literature. Forgetting Céline would be.

  4. lyn

    One thing I want to say is that this is one of my all-time favorite books for leading me to other horizons. The references that it provides can supply hours and hours of enjoyment and reading. If you like turn-of-the-century interests, this is a MUST. I have it in my personal library of over 13,000 hard-cover manuscripts!

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.