Our Riches, page 8
February 11, 1945
We can’t work properly at the hotel; it’s too cold to concentrate. We’ve moved to the Café de Flore, where we stay after breakfast, like Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, who have settled in on the other side of the room, and seem to have come here, as we have, for warmth, real coffee, and silence. Amrouche, Poncet, Gide, and I are preparing to open the Paris branch of Éditions Charlot.
February 13, 1945
A letter from Roblès declining my invitation to join us here at Éditions Charlot in Paris. He’s frank about how hard it would be for him to work with Amrouche. He also has another project: he wants to launch a magazine, with the aim of “forging durable friendships beyond the immediate and pressing concerns of particular communities.” The idea is to publish in three languages: French, Arabic, Berber.
February 18, 1945
Wrote to Vercors to ask him what he wants to do about the edition of The Silence of the Sea published in Algiers before the Liberation. Does he want to cede the rights entirely to Minuit? Along with the letter, I sent him a copy of the Journal officiel, in which the communists are calling him a fascist and demanding his head. I hope he finds it amusing.
February 27, 1945
Faucheux has suggested a new look for all the covers. He thinks it will make the books sell. He’s right: we have to combine design and content.
March 18, 1945
When I got back to the hotel, Madame Glorifet handed me a letter left by a pastor: I have been told that you are looking for premises. A member of my congregation, who was a prisoner of war, has returned in poor health and is looking to sell his property in the Rue de Verneuil. Would you be interested?
March 20, 1945
Visited the property: it’s run-down. Three rooms in a row: not sure how we’ll organize ourselves. But the neighborhood suits us, and the main thing is, it’s affordable. I’m going to buy it!
May 8, 1945
Victory Day for France, and the first day at number 8 Rue de Verneuil for Éditions Charlot.
May 15, 1945
The news from Algeria is horrific. What happened in Constantine? Whenever the subject comes up, the temperature rises, and it often ends in quarreling. No one can agree about what should be done in Algeria.
June 3, 1945
The Paris branch of Éditions Charlot is now a limited liability company. But I’m keeping Algiers as the head office; I’ll go back and forth.
The roles and titles have been determined as follows:
Editorial director: Jean Amrouche.
Commercial manager: Charles Poncet.
Managing director: Edmond Charlot.
Armand Guibert, back in France after all his traveling in Portugal, Italy, and South Africa, will be responsible for international sales. He’s very pleased to be with us again. I have offered them all shares in the company. Madeleine is still part of the team, of course, along with a new recruit, Dominique Aury, recommended to Amrouche by Jean Paulhan. She was on the paper allocation committee during the war, so she could have useful connections and she comes with the support of Paulhan, who seems to be very attached to her.
June 10, 1945
I put an envelope full of cash on the table. For all the gang to dip into according to their needs. I feel like their father.
June 22, 1945
Amrouche is completely obsessed by L’Arche. He keeps writing to Paulhan, asking him to throw his weight behind the magazine. Symbolically, it would be quite a coup: the ex-editor of the NRF. And he keeps writing to Gide to remind him that he’s the magazine’s patron. I’ve tried, in vain, to make him understand that we have to handle these men with care; we mustn’t give the impression that we’re desperate. I’m very fond of Amrouche, but I’m not sure that he hears what I’m saying.
June 29, 1945
Paper is scarce. Will this ever end? There’s a regulation, but it’s unfair! Quantities are allocated in accordance with prewar production, and anyone who wasn’t operating here in France before the arrival of the Germans can take a walk. I’m told that Malraux himself had to step in to ensure that Minuit got a quota.
August 2, 1945
Leaving for a week in Algiers. The trips back and forth are wearing me out. I’m always having to patch things up, smooth ruffled feathers, raise morale, and I’m doing it all at a distance. Having a head office on one side of the Mediterranean and a branch on the other complicates everything.
August 29, 1945
Dinner with Jules Roy, Armand Guibert, and Jean Amrouche in a charming Parisian bistro. I was rather distracted, and it must have been obvious. Money worries stop me enjoying the time I spend with my friends. I sat there looking at the three of them, each so different and yet united by the same dreams.
September 5, 1945
Amrouche is full of grand ideas. When manuscripts come in from young writers, he reads them carefully, always on the lookout for something interesting, beautiful, publishable. He sends back long, encouraging letters, and in some cases even arranges a meeting . . . He can be curt, but I know that he has the best interests of Éditions Charlot at heart.
September 15, 1945
We’re trying to organize the business, but competition is fierce, and we’re seen as exotic Algerian newcomers. Still, we’re managing to publish twelve to fifteen books a month.
September 18, 1945
Amrouche has convinced me to print expensive, stylish catalogues to publicize our authors and our books. He also wants us to take out ads in the press. Camus is skeptical; he’s advising me to tread warily: “Put on the brakes, start small.”
September 21, 1945
Lunch at a little restaurant in the Rue des Canettes with Soupault, Amrouche, Roblès, Aury, Poncet, Sauvage, and Fréminville.
Interesting conversation with Soupault, who has no end of connections. Thanks to him, we’ve come to agreements with many writers and agents. I like and admire him very much, perhaps even more than Camus from a literary point of view.
October 9, 1945
We’re living like penniless students, struggling to support our families; we have to fight on all fronts at once. I’m appalled by all the things we’ve neglected. Some of our writers have never signed a contract. And I’m trapped in a legal labyrinth. Nothing in Paris works as it did in Algiers: the legislation is different; taxes aren’t paid in the same way, or royalties, or printers’ fees, or overhead, or salaries, or even social security contributions.
November 1, 1945
Writing to the judges of literary prizes, one after another.
Working on a letter to journalists to present some of our forthcoming titles. I’ll get Amrouche and Camus to read the draft and give me their advice.
November 29, 1945
I’ve been informed that Gide asked Paulhan if he wanted to bring L’Arche into the Gallimard fold, but apparently Gaston Gallimard found the last number “flat.” He even used the word “ridiculous,” so I’m told. Amrouche doesn’t seem to have heard. I’m furious. I confided in Poncet, who’s worried because there’s a rumor afoot in Paris that Éditions Charlot is about to go bankrupt. We have to hold our course, and above all stay united.
December 10, 1945
The Farm Théotime won the Renaudot Prize! I’m so glad for Henri Bosco, who thoroughly deserves it. He’s a fine writer, a Mediterranean, steeped in sunlight, Provence, and poetry, and he has a good heart! What a joy for him and Éditions Charlot, for everyone involved in this adventure. Up all night with my friends celebrating the news.
December 17, 1945
Man’s Work by Emmanuel Roblès won the People’s Novel Prize! How can I describe what I feel? All this frenzy around the prizes. It’s as if the whole world were watching us. Absolutely overjoyed!
December 19, 1945
A letter came from Armand Guibert, dated November 26. I wonder where it’s been in all this time. He has written a beautiful note about The Farm Théotime, which I’ll pass on to Henri. He’ll be touched.
January 17, 1946
Snowed under: New Year’s greetings to reply to, letters of all kinds, orders from bookstores and other paperwork. My friends and family are paying the price.
February 5, 1946
We’re publishing On My Horse, a collection of poems by Frédéric Jacques Temple. I haven’t forgotten the promise I made to him before he left for the front. He wrote me a long letter to tell me how moved he is. Although I don’t know him all that well, I feel that the friendship between us is deep. One day I will set off to find you on my horse, without a saddlebag or a gun . . .
February 11, 1946
Letter to Guibert to remind him that Amrouche is still waiting for his contribution, and to say that I’d be interested in publishing something about Pretoria. I’m curious about the lives, the loves, the dreams of people there. Pretoria: what a beautiful name!
February 22, 1946
Reply from Guibert reminding me that I still owe him 17,430 francs, his salary for May, and the same for June, plus a fee of 38,000 francs for the translation of Ferreira de Castro’s Eternidade.
February 27, 1946
I saw in the paper that Momo, my friend from the Casbah, had broken the world distance record for swimming underwater, in Paris. The man is incredible! A phenomenon! I kept the cutting.
March 6, 1946
We’re facing enormous difficulties. The big publishers have recovered easily from the war, and competition is fierce. They look down on us; to them, we’re Algerian interlopers, hicks. They’re approaching my authors, I know, courting them, inviting them to dinner. They’re promising the moon, saying I’ll go bankrupt in a few months.
March 8, 1946
Paulhan has refused to join the editorial committee of L’Arche. Well, that’s clear now, at least. Amrouche is furious and gloomy. All the obstacles (lack of paper, people failing to deliver, our competitors’ dirty tricks) are wearing us out and preventing us from meeting our deadlines.
March 15, 1946
Publishing a book by Paul Tubert. The title is ironic through and through: Algeria Will Be French and Happy. Last year, General Tubert was commissioned by de Gaulle to investigate the Sétif massacres. He has offered me the text of his speech at the National Assembly. We agreed to date it July 10, 1943, before the massacres, to avoid any problems. And in order to reduce the risks for our printers, the colophon will read Special Press, which doesn’t exist, of course. Sleight of hand, subterfuge.
May 2, 1946
Books and manuscripts piling up everywhere. We’ve run out of space. We have to find new premises, urgently. But we can’t afford what we really need.
May 6, 1946
Amrouche has been on at me for weeks about an antique chess board he has found; he wants it as a gift for Gide. In the end I caved in and let him have the money. The things you have to do as a publisher these days.
May 22, 1946
It really is a strange life here, with the children and Manon back in Algiers. Publishing has ruled my life; it will end up costing me my family.
June 15, 1946
A quarrel between Amrouche and Poncet; they just don’t get on, it’s obvious. People tell me to watch Amrouche; they say he wants to run the magazine on his own (he already does). He’s always demanding more respect, and so is Poncet. Childish, really.
October 29, 1946
Vincent Auriol summoned me to the Senate and asked me to reprint his book Yesterday . . . Tomorrow. I told him I’m out of paper and don’t even have a telephone. I’m out of everything, to tell the truth. “Just go ahead,” he said, “you’ll have what you need.” Almost as soon as I got back to the Rue de Verneuil, the men turned up to install the telephone. We’re sending Auriol’s book to the printer now, for a run of 35,000 copies.
December 4, 1946
Jules Roy is celebrating his Renaudot Prize for The Happy Valley! He created a sensation by turning up at the office in his flying gear to sign copies of the book.
December 6, 1946
Visited the Crété printing works, founded in 1829 at Corbeil. They produce a good share of the books in our catalogue. Very impressed by the professionalism of all the employees.
December 22, 1946
The paper Auriol promised was never delivered. I’ll just have to wear it. If he’s elected president, his book will sell out in a few weeks.
December 31, 1946
Totting up today: almost 70 books published this year!
January 17, 1947
Auriol was elected yesterday, but the 35,000 copies of his book won’t sell: there’s a new law prohibiting publicity for a book by the head of state.
January 23, 1947
Lunch with Paulhan and Amrouche. Felt oddly superfluous. Endless problems.
January 24, 1947
Interminable meeting yesterday at the book industry cooperative. I’m trying to hold on, but our figures don’t look good. If we want to get things back on track, we need more space so that we can organize our activities properly.
January 30, 1947
I urgently need to find new premises; we’re much too crowded here and our projects are multiplying rapidly. The only way to get a decent space without paying a fortune is to buy a brothel. They’re all for sale since the Marthe Richard law was passed a few months ago, outlawing organized prostitution and procuring. Which is why I’m touring the brothels, looking for a good deal.
February 5, 1947
The bookstores are ordering by telegram, and by the kilo, but we’re still short of paper and I can’t find any way to get more. Maddening. Victims of our own success. I need less success or more paper, and above all better financial support. Sales are reaching 100,000, and much more for some titles. The Farm Théotime will make it to 300,000, for sure. But the more good books we publish, the worse off we are financially. I’ve gone from being a small specialist publisher to a business drowning in orders . . . and debts. I can’t sleep.
February 9, 1947
A meeting at the bank, which didn’t go well. In spite of the prizes and the publicity. The man I was talking to knows nothing about books and won’t lift a finger to help me.
February 16, 1947
Still just as hard to get paper. I had to buy some on the black market at an exorbitant price. I sign what they put in front of me. Without being able to negotiate the rates or the delivery date. Am I doomed to spend my whole life chasing after paper?
February 21, 1947
Difficult conversation with Amrouche. I might be wrong, but I have the impression that he doesn’t trust me.
February 25, 1947
Every day, every night, I hear of some hostile maneuver on the part of our competitors. They would love to send us back to
Algiers. They’re courting our authors, bullying our suppliers. I’m no match for them. The Parisian publishers have money, paper, and connections. What do we have? Writers — the best — and commitment, but that won’t be enough. We’re a long way from 2b Rue Charras, and the bistros of Algiers, and our friends. We have no choice but to hold things over, beg the printers to rearrange their schedules, and warn people that payments will be delayed. Night after night I go over the accounts. I’m losing heart. Nothing is working out.
February 28, 1947
Ran into Gide who was wearing a dark red suit. That’s how he gets his royalties from the USSR, he explained. His books sell well there, but he’s not allowed to take the rubles out of the country, so they compensated him with bolts and bolts of fabric, which he had made up into a large collection of suits. I told Amrouche the story, but he seemed bitter. He feels that he doesn’t have a real place in Gide’s life; Gide never thinks of him . . . I tried to explain that it’s not like that, being a publisher.
April 8, 1947
Things are getting even worse. Amrouche says we’ll have to take measures in the next five or six weeks in order to secure new funds. But what measures? And most of all: what funds? We can’t pay our authors (Grenier in particular for his articles in L’Arche, to my great shame).
April 12, 1947
I have just sold my little property to a lady by the name of Marie Marquet, who will use it to sell opalines. Éditions Charlot is moving to an ex-brothel in the Rue Grégoire de Tours, famous for having been frequented by the poet Guillaume Apollinaire. We have bought the whole building, whose owner, they tell me, was murdered (which brought down the price). A brothel. A poet. A murder. If all that doesn’t help us get back on our feet!
May 3, 1947
I sold Les Vraies Richesses to my brother Pierre: I couldn’t take care of it any longer, and I needed the money to finish the work on my “brothel.” It’s costing more than I planned. Felt a pang when I thought of my little store at 2b Rue Charras: that book-lined corridor. But it’s in good hands with Pierre and his wife.
May 7, 1947
News from Roblès, who has gone back to live in Algeria. He’s launching a magazine, to be called Forge.
Long may it live!
September 12, 1947
An avalanche of expenses that I’m barely able to cover: lunches, catalogues that cost a fortune, but how could I do without them? I just can’t find a solution, and the mood is grim in spite of our new premises.
January 28, 1948
We can’t print anymore, not a cent left. I haven’t been able to raise capital, and no bank will give me a loan.
February 17, 1948
Amrouche showed me the most recent letter from Jules Roy. He feels that we’re not doing enough for him: his book is selling itself, without a publicity push from us, and he’s not sure that he’s with the right publisher.
March 19, 1948
Amrouche is searching for money: a patron, businessmen, bankers . . . In vain.
March 30, 1948
Jules Roy has called in the lawyers to get out of all of his contracts with Éditions Charlot and move to Gallimard.
