Maurice Sachs always wanted to write a major work. He never succeeded. And beyond a play, The Hunt, unproduced, an occasional article or story, this minor memoir is about all he achieved. It is, except for an occasional perfumed phrase, an unpretentious account of his illicit (he was a homosexual) affairs and illegal (he black marketed) activities from 1941 on. After the German occupation of Paris, Sachs made a dubious livelihood dealing in gold, money and Jewels and by the end of the year managed to be three million francs in debt. His personal experiences were not much more rewarding; after a succession of incidental episodes, he fell in love extravagantly with a young man who used him and left him, and a little later Sachs left for Hamburg. Letters from there to a nameless correspondent conclude this marginal journal. Cocteau said of Sachs: ""He is a charmer; he charms God himself."" But certainly Sachs does very little to take advantage of the reader or to disguise the fact that he is essentially an immoralist with resilient reflexes, playing forbidden games without much gratification.