Description
The Reprieve is a novel by Jean-Paul Sartre, first published in 1945. The story of this novel takes place in September 1938; A turbulent time during which the whole of Europe is waiting for the outcome of a conference in Munich that will determine whether there will be a war. In Paris, too, people are waiting, and among them are Matthew, Jacques and Philippe, each struggling with their own love affair, doubts and anger, and none of them being ready. They do not have to go to the battlefields.
The book of suspense tries to create an artistic collage of the hopes, fears and self-deception of the people of a continent by dealing with different places and characters; People who see the danger of a house-to-house war closer to themselves than anything else.
The Reprieve
This work is one of the trilogy novels “Ways of Freedom” published in 1945. “Age of Wisdom” and “Torture of the Soul” are the other two volumes of this collection. This trilogy is one of the most important novels of the twentieth century about war.
We read part of The Suspension, an example of an existentialist novel: “At fifteen thirty minutes, Matthew was still waiting on the verge of a terrible future; At 16:30, Milan had no future. The old man got up, with his legs dry, and counted the steps, and solemnly walked across the room, saying, “Gentlemen!” And smiled palely. He placed the documents on the table, smoothing the papers one by one with his half-closed fist.
“Milan” was standing in front of the table; Opened documents cover the entire width of the desktop. Milan reviewed the phrase for the seventh time: “The president and his cohort, the cabinet, had no choice but to accept the offer of the two superpowers on the basis of taking sides for the future. There is no choice, because we are left alone.” Neville Henderson and Horace Wilson approached the table.
The old man turned to them and said in frustration and emotion, “Gentlemen, this is the only thing we can do,” and “Milan” thought, “Nothing else could be done.” There was a rumbling in the window, and Milan thought, “We are alone.” “Long live Hitler!” Was heard from the street.

Beautiful parts of The Reprievebook
“Not my little girl, no. I’m not afraid. A man is not afraid of war.
The point is that man does not want to face the truth. “Especially women who, when they think of something, insist on talking about something else immediately.”
“At sixteen and thirty minutes Berlin time, fifteen and thirty minutes in London, an empty, secluded hilltop hotel was as bored as its guest old man. “In Angolme, Gand Marseille and Dover, everyone was wondering what the old man was doing.”
Jean-Paul Charles Imar Sartre (1980-1905) is a French philosopher.
Sartre’s aim in the collection of novels “Ways of Freedom” is to provide a concise overview of the various methods that people choose to achieve freedom.
In a part of the book The Reprieve, we read:
At fifteen-thirty, Matthew was still waiting on the border for a terrible future; At 16:30, Milan had no future. The old man stood up, with his legs dry, and counted the steps, solemnly walked across the room and said, “Gentlemen!” And smiled palely. He placed the documents on the table, smoothing the papers one by one with his half-closed fist.
Milan was standing in front of the table; The opened documents cover the entire width of the desktop. “For the seventh time, the president and his entourage, the cabinet, had no choice but to accept the proposal of the two superpowers on the basis of taking sides for the future. There is no choice, because we are left alone.” Neville Henderson and Horace Wilson approached the table.
The old man turned to them and said in frustration and emotion, “Gentlemen, this is the only thing we can do,” and Milan thought, “Nothing else could be done.” There was rumble from the window, and Milan thought, “We are alone.” “Long live Hitler!” Shouted from the street.
“There are some who have nothing but their souls … no one does anything for them … no one … no government … no regime.
Man always maintains a kind of shameful and unsaturated effect in the deepest corner of his being. An effect that patiently waits for a funeral, a memorial service, or a wedding to finally bring to tears that she has never dared to express. »
“Sixteen thirty minutes. Everyone looks at the sky, I look at the sky. “The plane is not late,” says DeMore. He has already set up his camera and is looking up at the sky. Frowning because of the intense sunlight. The plane is black and sometimes sparkles; It gradually gets bigger and bigger, but its voice does not change, a good, full-blown voice that is fun to hear.
“Do not push,” I say. Everyone is present and they are pushing me from behind. I turn my face, all their heads are turned back as if they are smiling. They look green in the sun and their bodies have meaningless movements, just like beheaded chickens, fluttering, fluttering. “The day will come when we will stand face to face on the battlefield,” says Dommore. “The only difference is that we are wearing commandos that day and the plane is a mess.”
“Sixteen and thirty minutes in Berlin, fifteen and thirty minutes in London. The ceremonial hotel and the secluded hillside with the old man inside were both in disarray. In Angolem, Marseille, Gunn and Dover all said to themselves, “So what does he do?” “It’s past three o’clock, why aren’t you coming down?” He was sitting in a hall with half-open shutters; With staring eyes beneath those thick eyebrows and a half-open mouth, he seemed to recall a very old memory.
No longer reads the newspaper; His rough old hand was holding the sheets and hanging them along his knees. He turned to Horace Wilson and asked, “What time is it?” “About four-thirty,” said Horace. The old man raised his big eyes, smiled lovingly, and said, “The air is warm.” Burning and suffocating heat was weighing on Europe. People felt this warmth on their hands, in the depths of their eyes, and in their glasses.
Everyone was waiting, tired of the heat and the dust and the anxiety. Reporters waited in the hotel lobby. In the yard, three drivers were sitting motionless behind the wheel of their cars, waiting. Across the Rhine, countless motionless black processions waited in the lobby of the Driesen Hotel. Milan Helinka was no longer waiting. Do not wait any longer from this night. That heavy black day was over with this horrible certainty. “They have set us free!” And then the wheel of time resumed its aimless rotation;
The days were no longer spent for themselves, but depended on tomorrows; Now it was just tomorrow and that was it. At fifteen-thirty, Matthew was still waiting on the brink of a terrible future. At that moment, at sixteen thirty, Milan had no future. The old man got up on his dry knees and took dignified and agile steps to the other side of the room and said, “Gentlemen!” And smiled; He placed the newspaper on the table and smoothed the sheets with his clenched fist.
Milan was standing in front of the table. The opened newspaper covered the entire width of the desktop. Milan read for the seventh time that “the president and with him the government had no choice but to accept the proposals of the two superpowers regarding the future of the country.” “There was nothing else we could do because we were left alone.” Neville Henderson and Horace Wilson came to the table. The old man turned to them and said in a friendly and unassuming manner, “Gentlemen, this is the only way left.” “There was no other way,” Milan said to himself. There was a muffled rumble from the window, and Milan thought, “We are alone.” A faint rattle-like sound came from the street, “Long live Hitler!” Milan ran to the window and shouted, “Wait a minute!” “Wait, let me come down!” An excited person ran away with the sound of a shoe cracking.
He was a boy. He turned at the end of the street, checked the pockets of his apron, and then turned his hand in the air. And then the sound of two dry things hitting the wall was heard. “Liebknecht is small,” Milan said. “They are patrolling.” Bent over: The street was like Sunday Sunday. The Shenhofs hung red and white flags with the broken Nazi cross on their windows.
All the shutters of the green house were closed. Milan thought to himself, “We do not have shutters.” “We have to open all the windows,” he said. “Why?” Anna asked. “When the windows are closed, they target the glass.” Anna shrugged and said, “Anyway …” There was a vague song and commotion in the distance. “They are still in the field,” Milan said. He put his hands on the window sill and thought to himself, “Everything is over.” The obese man’s head was found on a street corner. He was carrying a large backpack with his weight on a cane. You looked tired; Two women, with their backs bent under the load of large bundles, followed him. “The Yerschmitt family is coming back,” Milan said without returning.
1- Introducing the book The Reprieve on YouTube
2- Introducing the book The Reprieve in Aparat
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