During her brief stay in Paris, Frida Kahlo wrote letters prolifically. Some of her finest missives were those to her lover, acclaimed photographer and champion fencer Nickolas Muray. Below are two of Kahlo’s letters to Muray, presented both as images and as transcriptions, which retain Kahlo’s original phrasings, spellings, and punctuation.
February 16, 1939, Letter
Paris Feb 16. 1939.
My adorable Nick. Mi niño,
I am writing to you on my bed in the American Hospital. Yesterday it was the first day I didn’t have fever and they allowed me to eat a little, so I feel better. Two weeks ago I was so ill that they brought me here in an ambulance because I couldn’t even walk. You know that I don’t know why or how I got collibacilus on the kidneys thru the intestines, and I had such an inflammation and pains that I thought I was going to die. They took several X rays of the kidneys and it seems that they are infected with those damn collibacilus. Now I am better and next Monday I will be out of this rotten hospital. I can’t go to the hotel, because I would be all alone, so the wife of Marcel Duchamp invited me to stay with her for a week while I recover a little.
Your telegram arrived this morning and I cried very much—of happiness, and because I miss you with all my heart and my blood. Your letter, my sweet, came yesterday, it is so beautiful, so tender, that I have no words to tell you what a joy it gave me. I adore you my love, believe me, like I never loved anyone—only Diego will be in my heart as close as you—always. I haven’t tell Diego a word about all this troubles of being ill—because he will worry so much, and I think in few days I will be all right again, so it isn’t worthwhile to alarm him. Don’t you think so?
Besides this damn sickness I had the lousiest luck since I arrived. In first place the question of the exhibition is all a damn mess. Until I came the paintings were still in the custom house, because the s. of a b. of Breton didn’t take the trouble to get them out. The photographs which you sent ages ago, he never received—so he says—the gallery was not arranged for the exibit at all and Breton has no gallery of his own long ago. So I had to wait days and days just like an idiot till I met Marcel Duchamp (a marvelous painter) who is the only one who has his feet on the earth, among all this bunch of coocoo lunatic son of bitches of the surrealists. He immediately got my paintings out and tried to find a gallery. Finally there was a gallery called “Pierre Colle” which accepted the damn exhibition. Now, Breton wants to exibit together with my paintings, 14 portraits of the XIX century (Mexican) about 32 photographs of Alvarez Bravo, and lots of popular objects which he bought on the markets of Mexico—all this junk, can you beat that? For the 15th of March the gallery supose to be ready. But . . . . the 14 oils of the XIX century must be restored and the damn restoration takes a whole month. I had to lend to Breton 200 bucks (Dlls) for the restoration because he doesn’t have a penny. (I sent a cable to Diego telling him the situation and telling that I lended to Breton that money—he was furious, but now is done and I have nothing to do about it) I still have money to stay here till the beginning of March, so I don’t have to worry so much.
Well, after things were more or less settled as I told you, few days ago Breton told me that the associated of Pierre Colle, an old bastard and son of a bitch, saw my paintings and found that only two were possible to be shown, because the rest are too “shocking” for the public!! I could of kill that guy and eat it afterwards, but I am so sick and tired of the whole affair that I have decided to send every thing to hell, and scram from this rotten Paris before I get nuts myself. You have no idea the kind of bitches these people are. They make me vomit. They are so damn “intelectual” and rotten that I can’t stand them any more. It is realy too much for my character. I rather sit on the floor in the market of Toluca and sell tortillas, than to have any thing to do with those “artistic” bitches of Paris. They sit for hours on the “cafés” warming their precious behinds, and talk without stopping about “culture” “art” “revolution” and so on and so forth, thinking themselves the gods of the world, dreaming the most fantastic nonsenses, and poisoning the air with theories and theories that never come true. Next morning—they don’t have anything to eat in their houses because none of them work and they live as parasites of the bunch of rich bitches who admire their “genius” of “artists.” Shit and only shit is what they are. I never seen Diego or you wasting their time on stupid gossip and “intelectual” discussions, that is why you are real men and not lousy “artists”—gee wez! It was worthwhile to come here only to see why Europe is rottening, why all this people—good for nothing—are the cause of all the Hitlers and Mussolinis. I bet you my life I will hate this place and its people as long as I live. There is something so false and unreal about them that they drive me nuts.
I am just hoping to get well soon and scram from here.
My ticket will last for a long time but I already have accommodations for the “Isle de France” on the 8 of March. I hope I can take this boat. In any case I won’t stay here longer than the 15th of March. To hell with the exibition in London. To hell with everything concerning Breton and all this lousy place. I want to go back to you— I miss every movement of your being, your voice, your eyes, your hands, your beautiful mouth, your laugh so clear and honest. YOU. I love you my Nick. I am so happy to think I love you—to think you wait for me—you love me.
My darling, give many kisses to Mam on my name, I never forget her. Kiss also Aria and Lea. For you, my heart full of tenderness and caresses. One special kiss on your neck. Your
Xochitl—
Give my love to Mary Sklar if you see her and to Ruzzy*
February 27, 1939, Letter
Paris. Feb. 27. 1939.
My adorable Nick–
This morning after so many days of waiting—your letter arrived. I felt so happy that before starting to read it I began to wep. My child, I really shouldn’t complain about any thing that happens to me in life, as long as you love me and I love you. It is so real and beautiful, that makes me forget all pains and troubles, makes me forget even distance. Your words made me feel so close to you that I can feel near me your eyes—your hands—your lips. I can hear your voice and your laugh. That laugh so clear and honest that only you have. I am just counting the days to go back. A month more! And we will be together again.
Darling, I made a terrible mistake. I was sure that your birthday was the 16th of January. If I knew it was the 16th of February I would never send that cable that caused you unhappiness and trouble. Please forgive me.
Five days ago I left the hospital, I am feeling much better and I hope I will be entirely well in a few days. I didn’t go back to the damn hotel because I couldn’t stay all alone. Mary Reynolds a marvelous american woman who lives with Marcel Duchamp invited me to stay at her house and I accepted gladly because she is really a nice person and doesn’t have anything to do with the stinking “artists” of the group of Breton. She is very kind to me and takes care of me wonderfully. I feel rather weak after so many days of fever because the damn infection of collibacili makes you feel rotten. The doctor tells me I must of eaten something which wasn’t well cleaned (salad or raw fruits) I bet you my boots, that in Breton’s house was where I got the lousy collibacili. You don’t have any idea of the dirt those people live in, and the kind of food they eat. It’s something incredible. I never seen anything like it before in my damn life. For a reason that I ignore, the infection went from the intestines to the blader and the kidneys, so for two days I couldn’t make pipi and I felt like if I were going to explode any minute. Fortunately everything its OK now, and the only thing I must do is to rest and to have a special diet. I am sending you here some of the reports from the hospital. I want you to be so sweet to give them to Mary Sklar and she will show them to David Glusker, so he can have an idea of what is the matter and send me indications of what I should eat. (Tell her please that for the three last days the urine tests shown that it is acid and before it was alkaline. The fever disapeared completely. I still have pain when I make pipi and a slight inflamation of the blader, I feel tired all the time (specially on the back). Thank you, my love, for making me this favor, and tell Mary that I miss her a lot and that I love her.
The question of the exibition finaly its settled. Marcel Duchamp has help me a lot and he is the only one among this rotten people who is a real guy. The show will open the 10th of March in a gallery called “Pierre Colle” They say its one of the best here. That guy Colle is the dealer of Dali and some other big shots of the surrealism. It will last two weeks—but I already made arrangments to take out my paintings the 23th in order to have time to packed them and take them with me on the 25th. The catalogues are already in the printing shop, so it seems that every thing is going on alright. I wanted to leave on the “Isle de France” the 8th of March, but I cable Diego and he wants me to wait till my things are shown, because he doesn’t trust any of this guys to ship them back. He is right in a way because after all I came here only for the damn exibition and would be stupid to leave two days before it opens. Don’t you think so? In any case, I don’t care if the show will be a succesful one or not. I am sick and tired of the whole affair here in Paris, and I decided that the same thing would be in London. So I am not going to make any exibit in London. People in general are scared to death of the war and all the exibitions have been a failure, because the rich bitches don’t want to buy anything. So what is the use of making any effort to go to London to waste time only?
My darling, I must tell you, that you are a bad boy. Why did you send me that check of 400 bucks? Your friend “Smith” is an imaginary one—very sweet indeed, but tell him, that I will keep his check untouched untill I come back to New York, and there we will talk things over. My Nick, you are the sweetest person I ever known. But listen darling, I don’t realy need that money now. I got some from Mexico, and I am a real rich bitch, you know? I have enough to stay here a month more. I have my return ticket. Every thing is under controll, so realy, my love, it is not fair that you should spend any thing extra. You have planty of troubles already to cause you a new one. I have money even to go to the “thieves market” and buy lots of junk which is one of the things I like the best. I don’t have to buy dresses or stuff like that because being a “tehuana” I don’t even wear pants, nor stockings either. The only things I bought here were two old fashion dolls, very beautiful ones. One is blond with blue eyes, the most wonderful eyes you can imagine. She is dressed as a bride. Her dress was full of dust and dirt, but I washed it, and now it looks much better. Her head is not very well adjusted to her body because the elastic which holds it, is already very old, but you and me will fix it in New York. The other one is less beautiful, but very charming. Has blond hair and very black eyes, I haven’t wash her dress yet and is dirty as hell. She only have one shoe, the other one she lost it in the market. Both are lovely, even with their heads a little bit loose. Perhaps that it is which gives them so much tenderness and charm. For years I wanted to have a doll like that, because somebody broke one that I had when I was a child, and I couldn’t find it again. So I am very happy having two now. I have a little bed in Mexico, which will be marvelous for the biger one. Think of two nice hungarian names to baptize them. The two of them cost me about two dollars and a half. So you can see my darling, that my expenses are not very important. I don’t have to pay hotel because Mary Reynolds doesn’t alow me to go back to the Hotel all by myself. The hospital is already payed. So I don’t think I will need very much money to live here. Any way, you can not imagine how much I appreciate your desire of helping me. I have not words to tell you what joy it gives me to think that you were willing to make me happy and to know how good hearted and adorable you are.— My lover, my sweetest, mi Nick—mi vida—mi niño, te adoro.
I got thiner with the illness, so when I will be with you, you will only blow, and . . . up she goes! the five floors of the La Salle Hotel. Listen Kid, do you touch every day the “whachumaycallit” which hangs on the corridor of our staircase? Don’t forget to do it every day. Don’t forget either to sleep on your tiny little cushion, because I love it. Don’t kiss anybody else while reading the signs and names on the streets. Don’t take anybody else for a ride in our Central Park. It belongs only to Nick and Xochitl.— Don’t kiss anybody on the couch of your ofice. Only Blanche Heys can give you masage on your neck. You can only kiss as much as you want, Mam. Don’t make love with anybody, if you can help it. Only if you find a real F. W. But don’t love her. Play with your electric train once in a while if you don’t come home very tired. How is Joe Jinks? How is the man who massages you twice a week? I hate him a little, because he took you away from me many hours. Have you fence a lot? How is Georgio?
Why do you say that your tripp to Hollywood was only half successful? Tell me all about it. My darling, don’t work so hard if you can help it. Because you get tired on your neck and on your back. Tell Mam to take care of yourself, and to make you rest when you feel tired. Tell her that I am much more in love with you, that you are my darling and my lover, and that while I am away she must love you more than ever to make you happy.
Does your neck bother you very much? I am sending you here millions of kisses for your beautiful neck to make it feel better. All my tenderness and all my caresses to your body, from your head to your feet. Every inch of it I kiss from the distance.
Play very often Maxine Sullivan’s disc on the gramophone. I will be there with you listening to her voice. I can see you lying on the blue couch, with your white cape, I see you shooting at the sculpture near the fireplace. I see clearly, the spring jumping on the air, and I can hear your laugh—just like a child’s laugh, when you got it right. Oh my darling Nick I adore you so much. I need you so, that my heart hurts.
I imagine Blanche will be here the first week of March. I will be so happy to see her because she is a real person, sweet and sincere, and she is to me like a part of yourself.
How are Aria and Lea? Please give my love to them. Also give my love to the kid Ruzzie, tell him that he is a swell guy.
My darling, do you need anything from Paris? Please tell me, I will be so happy to get you any thing you may need.
If Eugenia phones you, please tell her that I lost her adress and that is why I didn’t write. How is that wench?
If you see Rosemary give her lots of kisses. She is O.K. To Mary Sklar lots of love. I miss her very much.
To you, my loveliest Nick, all my heart, blood, and all my being. I adore you.
Frida.
The photographs you sent finally arrived.
14 rue Hallé c/o Mary Reynolds
