To Langston Hughes
April 24, 1926
Nice, France
My dear Langston
I had the book alright and beg your forgiveness for not thanking and congratulating you too before. But for three months I’ve been going around with your letter in my pocket (that nice racy one about your party at [Carl] Van Vechten’s) with the intention of writing you a real letter. But I have been so worried and unsettled I could not settle down to the job. I picked up a hundred francs here, a dollar there, trying to live in a way you can’t imagine. With me, trying to live became a job, a problem. I moved from Juan-les-Pins to Cagnes from Cagnes to Nice from Nice to Menton and back again to Nice, wherever I heard of a cheap room I hunted it up. But you can live cheap when you have the teensiest bit of sure money coming to you. When you haven’t, it’s stupid to bother. When I came out of hospital I found a job as valet-butler to a civilised cracker doctor and his Russian wife. I stayed with them a month. The experience was so interesting I kept a diary of it. When I say civilized I mean it in the typical cracker sense. I couldn’t stay over the month and I stayed it out simply because I’d lose my 200 francs if I hadn’t. It gave me an insight into what the French “bonne a tout faire” has got to do. You work from 7–10 at night without any letting up. You get indifferent food, a bed etc. That is, it’s little different from what a slave domestic was doing in Virginia a hundred years ago. I quit it to work on a building—(but I had almost forgotten to tell you that the old cracker told me that if I were a good boy and stayed with him I could have all his clothes when he was finished wearing them! That would be a part of my wages. I used to hear of that in America but I had to come to France to prove it for myself!)