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Simone de Beauvoir takes up a classic myth of immortality in literature in this novel. One day, Raymond Fosca is offered this one: to save the life of a poor soul against the assurance of eternal life. Tuscan prince of the 13th century, eager for great work, does not hesitate despite the prejudices made and drinks an elixir bottle, which guarantees eternal life.
It is a flashback story of centuries that animates the pages of this novel—from Charles V to Jacques Cartier, through the Age of Enlightenment and the Revolution of 1848, in a tête-à-tête between Fosca and Régine, an actress eager for glory and sure of its existence. Well, almost.
Beyond the immortality and the deep death it causes in Fosca, who only lives again a few times thanks to women or causes that give him the illusion of acting and living while dead, this novel is also a plea for man, his action, and his madness. A man knows that he is mortal. Remember that what he builds or aspires to will not satisfy him, and he will probably not see his objectives' end and completion. A man knows that even when his goals are reached, he will be replaced by others because he is dissatisfied by nature, and this dissatisfaction, this search for more or different, makes him a living Man.
Through the fate of the characters he introduces, Fosca sees that the same story always begins again.
Beyond the horror of eternal life, it is the beauty of man's actions that prevails. Despite the faults and atrocities committed, whatever happens, he seeks to act, improve his lot, and improve that of the whole, always facing the same opposing forces, an eternal renewal.
Must we then fear death and say that our lives are useless since, in the end, all that has preceded and will follow will always be only a beginning and that hardly born we are already dead like the bitterly notes Fosca? On the contrary, should we be impressed and carried by this eternal force that guides our steps?
Fosca measures over the pages these sentences that were said and repeated to him like a leitmotif during the centuries he crossed: it is because they die that men live.