The Mandarins

‘Yes, it’s funny,’ Nadine said. ‘For once all the critics agree. It’s as if they were burying someone or awarding a prize for virtue.’

‘You might have something there!’ Henri said. ‘The little viper,’ he thought with amused bitterness, ‘she found just the words I didn’t want to say, not even to myself.’ He smiled at Lachaume. ‘You’re dead wrong on one point, though. My man will never become a Communist.’

‘What else do you expect him to become?’

Henri laughed. ‘Just what I’ve become!’ he said.

Lachaume laughed in turn. ‘Precisely!’ He looked Henri in the eyes. ‘In less than six months, the SRL will no longer exist and you’ll have realized that individualism doesn’t pay. You’ll join the Communist Party.’

Henri shook his head. ‘But I do more for you as I am. You’re delighted I brought the Spanish thing out in the open instead of your having to do it. And what good would it do if L’Espoir rehashed the same stuff L’Humanité prints? I’m doing much more useful work trying to make people think, asking questions that you don’t ask, telling certain truths that you don’t tell.’

‘But you ought to be doing that work as a Communist,’ Lachaume said.

‘They wouldn’t let me!’

‘Of course they would. It’s true there’s too much factionalism in the Party just now, but that’s because of circumstances. It won’t last forever.’ Lachaume paused a moment and then said, ‘Don’t repeat this, but some of my friends and I are hoping to start a magazine of our own pretty soon, a magazine with a little scope, in which everything will be discussed with complete freedom.’

‘First of all, a magazine isn’t a daily,’ Henri said. ‘And as for being free, I’d have to see it to believe it.’ He gave Lachaume a friendly look. ‘Anyhow, it would be a good thing if you could have a magazine of your own. Do you think it’ll go through?’

‘There’s a good chance of it.’

Vincent leaned forward and looked at Henri defiantly. ‘If you get your sheet I hope you’ll make sure that you’ll explain to the comrades what a lousy stinking thing it is to open your arms wide to all those so-called “repentant” sons-of-bitches.’

‘We? Accepting collaborators with open arms? Tell that to the readers of Figaro. It’ll cheer them up a little.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re not quietly clearing a lot of those lousy bastards.’

‘Don’t confuse the issue,’ Lachaume said. ‘When we decide to clear one of them, it means we think he can be regenerated.’

‘Well, if that’s the way you look at it, how do you know the guys we shot down couldn’t be regenerated?’

‘At the time it was out of the question; they had to be shot.’

‘At the time! But I’ve killed them all my life!’ Vincent smiled maliciously. ‘Let me tell you something. They’re all nothing but shits – all of them, without any exception. And what we ought to do now is get rid of all those we missed.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Nadine asked.

‘I mean we ought to organize,’ Vincent replied, his eyes trying to catch Henri’s attention.

‘Organize what? Punitive expeditions?’ Henri said, laughing.

‘Do you know that in Marseilles they’re throwing everyone who belonged to the Maquis in jail, just as if they were a bunch of common criminals?’ Vincent said. ‘Are we going to let them get away with it?’

‘Terrorism is no solution,’ Lachaume said.

‘No,’ Henri said. He looked at Vincent. ‘I’ve heard talk about gangs who enjoyed playing at being judges. Now if it’s a question of settling a personal account, I can understand. But guys who think they’re saving France by killing a few collaborators here and there are either sick men or stupid bastards.’

‘Yes, I know. The sound thing is to join the Communist Party or the SRL!’ Vincent said. He shook his head. ‘You won’t get me.’

‘I guess we’ll just have to do without you!’ Henri replied amiably.

He got up; Nadine followed his example. ‘I’ll go with you,’ she said.

She seemed to enjoy trying to look like a woman; she had even made an attempt to use make-up. But her eyelashes looked like a sea urchin’s spiny bristles and there were black smudges under her eyes. As soon as they got outside she asked, ‘Are you having lunch with me?’

‘No, I have some work to do at the paper.’

‘At this time of day?’

‘At all times of the day.’

‘Well, let’s have dinner together then.’

‘No again. I plan to work very late. And afterwards, I’m going to see your father.’

‘Oh! That paper! Can’t you ever talk about anything else? After all, you know, it’s not the centre of the world!’

‘I never said it was.’

‘No, but that’s what you think.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, when will we see each other?’

He hesitated. ‘Honestly, Nadine, I haven’t a minute to spare these days.’

‘You do sit down at a table and eat occasionally, don’t you? I really don’t see why I can’t sit down opposite you.’ She looked Henri squarely in the face. ‘Unless I give you a pain in the neck.’

‘Of course you don’t.’

‘Well?’

‘All right. Meet me at the office tomorrow between nine and ten.’

‘I’ll be there.’

He was quite fond of Nadine and seeing her didn’t, as she put it, give him a pain in the neck. But that wasn’t the point. The thing was that he had to organize his life as efficiently as possible. And there was simply no place in it for Nadine.

‘Why were you so hard on Vincent?’ Nadine asked. ‘You really shouldn’t have been.’

‘I’m afraid he’ll do something foolish.’

‘Something foolish! Whenever anyone wants to do something, you call it foolishness. Don’t you think writing books is the most goddamned foolish thing of all? Everyone applauds you and for a while you’re all puffed up. But afterwards they all stick your book in a corner and no one gives it another thought.’

‘That’s my profession,’ he said.

‘It’s a funny profession!’

They continued walking in silence. When they arrived at the door to the newspaper Nadine said dryly, ‘I’m going home. See you tomorrow.’

‘So long.’

Hesitantly, she turned back and stood before him. ‘Between nine and ten – that’s rather late, isn’t it? We won’t have much time to do anything. Can’t we begin the evening a little earlier?’

‘I won’t be free before then.’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘All right then, at nine-thirty. But what’s the use of being famous and everything if you don’t take any time out to live?’

‘To live!’ he thought as she turned on her heels and walked briskly away. ‘To them that always means only one thing; to spend your time with them. But there’s more than one way of living!’

He liked that familiar smell of stale dust and fresh ink that greeted him as he entered the building. The offices were still empty, the basement silent. But soon a whole world would rise from this stillness, a world which was his creation. ‘No one will ever lay his hands on L’Espoir,’ he repeated to himself. He sat down at his desk and stretched out his legs. There was, he told himself, no sense in getting upset. He would not give up the paper; somehow you always manage to find time for things you want to do; and after a good night’s sleep his work would move along much more smoothly.

He went through his mail quickly and looked at his watch. He had an appointment with Preston in half an hour, which left him ample time to have it out with Sezenac. ‘Ask Sezenac to come to my office,’ he said to his secretary. He went back to his desk and sat down. It’s all well and good to have confidence in people, but there were a lot of guys who would jump at the chance of taking Sezenac’s place and who deserved it more than he did. When you stubbornly decide to give one man a chance, you arbitrarily deny it to another one. And that was not right. ‘Too bad!’ Henri said to himself. He recalled how promising Sezenac had seemed when Chancel had first brought them together. For a year he had been the most zealous of the liaison agents; maybe he needed extraordinary circumstances to bring out his best. But now, pale, puffy, glassy-eyed, he constantly trailed in Vincent’s wake and he was no longer able to write a coherent sentence.

‘Ah! There you are! Sit down.’

Sézenac sat down without saying a word. Henri suddenly realized that he had been working with him a whole year and that he knew him not at all. He was more or less familiar with the lives of the others, their tastes, their ideas. But Sezenac kept things to himself.

‘When are you going to turn in something better than the junk you’ve been giving us lately?’ Henri said much more sharply than he had intended to.

Sézenac shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

‘What’s wrong?’ Henri asked. ‘Not getting laid enough? Got yourself in a jam?’

Sézenac sat quietly, rolling a handkerchief between his hands and staring stubbornly at the floor. It was really difficult to get through to him.

‘What’s wrong?’ Henri repeated. ‘I’m willing to give you another chance.’

‘No,’ Sézenac said. ‘Journalism just isn’t my dish.’

‘At first you were doing all right.’

Sézenac smiled vaguely. ‘Chancel helped me a little.’

‘He didn’t write your articles for you, did he?’

‘No,’ Sézenac replied without assurance. He shook his head. ‘No use in pressing the matter. It’s not the kind of work I like.’

‘You could have told me sooner,’ Henri said with a trace of annoyance. Again there was a brief silence, and then Henri asked, ‘What would you like to do?’

‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll get along.’

‘How?’

‘I’m giving English lessons. And I’ve been promised some translations.’ He stood up. ‘It’s really been good of you to keep me on so long.’

‘If you ever feel like sending us something …’

‘If I get round to it.’

‘Can I do anything for you?’

‘You can lend me a thousand francs,’ Sézenac said.

‘Here’s two thousand,’ Henri said. ‘But that’s no solution.’

Sézenac shoved his handkerchief and the money into his pocket and then, for the first time, he smiled. ‘It’s a temporary solution; they’re the surest.’ He opened the door. ‘Thanks.’

‘Good luck,’ Henri called after him. He was disturbed. It seemed almost as if all Sézenac had been waiting for was a chance to escape. ‘I’ll get news of him through Vincent,’ he thought in order to reassure himself. But it bothered him a little not to have been able to make him talk.

He took out his fountain pen and placed a sheet of writing paper in front of him. Preston would be along in fifteen minutes. He didn’t want to think too much about the magazine before he was sure, but his head was full of plans. The weeklies that were being published since the end of the Occupation were all rather pitiful; that would make it all the more fun to put out something really good.

Henri’s secretary poked her head in the door. ‘Mr Preston is here.’

‘Ask him to come in.’

In his civilian clothes, Preston didn’t look at all like an American. The very perfection of his French, however, made him somewhat suspect. He came to the point almost immediately.

‘Your friend Luc must have told you that we saw each other several times during your absence,’ he said. ‘Both of us deplored the state of the French press; it’s really sad. It would be a very great pleasure for me to help your paper by furnishing you with additional newsprint.’

‘Yes, that would fix us up fine!’ said Henri. ‘Of course, we couldn’t think of changing our format,’ he added. ‘The agreement with the other papers is still in effect. But there’s nothing to stop us from bringing out a Sunday magazine supplement, and that would open up a whole new area.’

Preston smiled reassuringly. ‘As far as the newsprint is concerned,’ he said, ‘there’s no problem. You could have it tomorrow.’ He slowly lit a cigarette with his black enamelled lighter. ‘I have to ask you a very blunt question. L’Espoir’s political line is not going to change, is it?’

‘No,’ Henri replied. ‘Why?’

‘To my way of thinking, L’Espoir represents precisely the guide your country needs,’ Preston said. ‘That’s why my friends and I want to help it. We admire your independent mind, your courage, your lucidity …’

He stopped speaking, but his voice hung in the air.

‘Well?’ said Henri.

‘I followed the beginning of your series on Portugal with great interest. But this morning I was a bit surprised to read in an interview you recently gave that you intend – in regard to the Salazar régime – to criticize American policy in the Mediterranean area.’

‘As a matter of fact, I do find this policy unfortunate,’ Henri said rather sharply. ‘Both Franco and Salazar should have been booted out a long time ago.’

‘Things aren’t that simple, as you know very well,’ Preston said. ‘It goes without saying that we have every intention of helping the Spanish and Portuguese to regain their democratic freedoms – but at the right moment.’

‘The right moment is immediately,’ Henri said. ‘There are people in Madrid’s prisons who have been sentenced to death. Every day counts.’

‘That’s my opinion, too,’ Preston said. ‘And I’m certain that the State Department will take the same position.’ He smiled. ‘That’s why it seems to me especially inopportune to turn French opinion against us now.’

Henri smiled in turn. ‘Politicians are never in a hurry; the best thing just now, it seems to me, is to back them into a corner.’

‘Don’t fool yourself,’ Preston said amiably. ‘Your paper is well thought of in American political circles. ‘But don’t expect to influence Washington.’

‘I don’t expect to,’ Henri said. ‘I say what I think, that’s all.’ He added heatedly, ‘You were just congratulating me on my independence …’

‘And it’s exactly that independence which you are going to jeopardize,’ Preston said. He looked at Henri reproachfully. ‘In opening that campaign, you play directly into the hands of those who want to picture us as imperialists.’ He paused a moment and added, ‘You take a humanitarian position with which I fully agree, but one which is not politically sound. Give us a year, and the republic will be re-established in Spain – and under the most favourable conditions.’

‘I have no intention of opening a campaign,’ Henri said. ‘All I want to do is point out certain facts.’

‘But those facts will be used against us,’ Preston said.

Henri shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s not my business. I’m a journalist. My job is to tell the truth.’

Preston looked Henri firmly in the eyes. ‘If you knew that printing certain truths would have unfortunate consequences, would you print them?’

‘If I were absolutely certain that truth would be harmful, then I could see only one solution: I’d resign; I’d give up journalism.’

Preston smiled engagingly. isn’t that a rather rigid ethical concept?’

‘I have Communist friends who’ve asked me exactly the same question,’ Henri replied. ‘But it’s not so much the truth I respect; it’s my readers. I admit that under certain conditions telling the truth can be a luxury. That may well be the case in Russia,’ he said, smiling. ‘But in France, today, I don’t recognize anyone’s right to suppress the truth. Maybe it isn’t so simple for a politician, but I’m not on the side of those who are doing the manoeuvring; I’m with the ones they are trying to manoeuvre. They count on me to keep them informed of what’s happening as well as I can, and if I remain silent or if I lie I’d be betraying them.’

He stopped, a little embarrassed by his lengthy speech. He hadn’t addressed it only to Preston; he had a vague feeling of being cornered and he was striking out haphazardly against everyone.

Preston shook his head. ‘We come back to the same basic misunderstanding: you say you simply want to keep them informed, but I call that a form of action. I’m afraid you’re a victim of French intellectualism. As for me, I’m a pragmatist. Do you know the works of John Dewey?’

‘No.’

‘That’s a pity. We pragmatists aren’t very well known in France. Dewey is a very great philosopher.’ Preston paused a moment, and then continued, ‘Mark you, we have no objections at all to being criticized. No one is more open to constructive criticism than an American. Explain to us how to keep the affection of the French and we’ll listen to you with rapt attention. But France is in no position to judge our Mediterranean policies.’

‘I speak in my name only,’ Henri said irritably. ‘Whether you’re in a good position or a bad one, you still have the right to speak your mind.’

There was a brief silence, and then Preston said, ‘You understand of course that if L’Espoir takes a position against America I can no longer continue to sympathize with it.’

‘I understand,’ Henri said sharply. ‘And I imagine that you, for your part, can easily understand how unthinkable it would be for me to subject L’Espoir to your censorship.’

‘But who said anything about censorship!’ Preston replied in shocked surprise. ‘All I want is for you to remain faithful to your guiding principle. I mean your neutrality.’

‘Exactly. I have every intention of remaining faithful to it,’ Henri said with a sudden flash of anger. ‘L’Espoir can’t be bought for a few pounds of newsprint.’

‘Well, if that’s the way you’re going to take it …’ Preston said. He got up. ‘Believe me, I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘Well, I’m not,’ Henri replied.

All day long he had felt vaguely angry. But he had certainly chosen a fine time to blow up. He had been a fool to imagine that Preston would play Santa Claus. He was, after all, an agent of the State Department and Henri had been inexcusably naïve in talking to him as a friend. He stood up and walked towards the editorial room.

‘Luc, old boy, it looks like we’re going to have to do without a magazine supplement,’ he said, sitting down on the edge of the conference table.

‘No!’ Luc said. ‘Why?’ His face looked puffy and old, like a dwarf’s. When his plans were thwarted, he seemed to be on the verge of tears.

‘Because that Yank wants to keep us from opening our mouths about America. He practically offered me a deal.’

‘That’s hard to believe. He seemed to be such a decent chap.’

‘In a way, it’s flattering,’ Henri said. ‘We’re really being courted. Do you know what Dubreuilh suggested last night? That L’Espoir become the official organ of the SRL.’

Luc looked dismayed. ‘Did you refuse?’

‘Of course.’

‘All those parties that are coming to life again, the factions, the movements – we have to stay clear of all those things,’ Luc said pleadingly.

Luc’s convictions were so strong that even when you agreed with them you were sometimes tempted to harry him a little. ‘But it is true that the unity of the Resistance is nothing more than words now,’ Henri said. ‘And we are going to have to state our position clearly one of these days.’

‘They’re the ones who’re sabotaging unity!’ Luc said with a sudden burst of emotion. ‘They call the SRL a “regrouping”, but all they’re doing is to create a new schism.’

‘No, it’s the bourgeoisie who are creating the schism. And when you try to place yourself above the class struggle, you run the risk of playing right into their hands.’

‘Listen,’ Luc said, ‘as far as the paper’s political position goes, you’re the one who makes the decisions; you’ve got more brains than I. But hooking up with the SRL is another story. I’m absolutely opposed to that.’ His face hardened. ‘I’ve spared you the details of our troubles – financial matters and such – but I did warn you that things weren’t going too well. If we get hooked up with a movement that means damned little to damned near everyone, that’s not going to help things.’

‘Do you think we’d lose more readers?’ Henri asked.

‘Obviously! And then we’re done for.’

‘Yes,’ Henri said. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

Circulation had dropped appreciably, for as long as people were forced to buy minuscule tabloids the non-Parisians preferred their local papers to the Parisian dailies. But even if they could go back to the regular-sized format, he wasn’t at all sure that L’Espoir would regain its readers. In any case, he couldn’t afford the luxury of a crisis. ‘I suppose I am just an idealist!’ Henri thought. In arguing with Dubreuilh, he had raised the issues of confidence, influence, roles to be played. And all the while the real answer was plainly written in figures: they would go broke. It was one of those solid arguments that neither sophisms nor ethics could alter. He was anxious to use it.

Henri arrived at Dubreuilh’s apartment on the Quai Voltaire at ten o’clock, but the launching of his planned attack was delayed for a while. As usual Anne produced a light supper: Portuguese sausages, ham, a rice salad, and, to celebrate Henri’s return, a bottle of Meursault. They exchanged stories about their travelling experiences and shared the latest Paris gossip. To tell the truth, Henri did not feel very aggressive. He was happy to be back once more in Dubreuilh’s study, among those well-worn books, most of them inscribed by their authors, among the unpurchased paintings signed with well-known names, among the exotic curios acquired over the years in many travels. As an observer from the outside Henri could truly appreciate the value of that whole discreetly privileged life, and at the same time he felt those rooms were his real home. In the most intimate reaches of his own life, he was warm and comfortable there.

‘It’s really cosy here,’ he said to Anne.

‘Isn’t it? Whenever I go out, I feel lost,’ she said cheerfully.

‘I must say Scriassine picked a weird place to take us,’ Dubreuilh said.

‘What a dive! But all in all, it turned out to be a pretty good evening,’ Henri said. ‘Except for the end,’ he added with a smile.

‘The end? No, not the end. The moment I found particularly difficult was when they played Dark Eyes,’ Dubreuilh said with an innocent air.

Henri hesitated. Perhaps Dubreuilh had decided against bringing it up again so soon. It certainly would be a shame to spoil this moment; why not profit from his discretion? But Henri was impatient to confirm his secret victory.

‘You certainly did a good job of dragging L’Espoir through the mud,’ he said lightly.

‘Not at all,’ Dubreuilh replied with a smile.

‘Anne is my witness! Anyhow, I’ll admit that not all of what you had to say was wrong,’ Henri conceded. ‘And I do want to say that I’ve been thinking seriously about your proposition to tie L’Espoir in with the SRL; in fact, I even spoke to Luc about it. But it’s completely out of the question.’

Dubreuilh’s smile vanished. ‘I hope that isn’t your last word,’ he said. ‘Because without a paper, the SRL will never amount to anything. And don’t go telling me there are other papers; none of them really share our ideas completely. If you refuse, who’ll accept?’

‘I know,’ Henri said. ‘But let me tell you something: at the moment L’Espoir is in a financial crisis, like most of the other papers. I believe we’ll come out of it all right, but for a good long while we’re going to have a hard time making ends meet. Now the day we decide to become an organ of a political party, circulation will drop at once. And we just won’t be able to take it.’

‘The SRL isn’t a party,’ Dubreuilh said. ‘It’s a movement, a movement with a broad enough base so that your readers won’t be shocked by the change.’

‘Party or movement, practically speaking it’s the same thing,’ Henri replied. ‘All those Communist workers and Communist sympathizers I spoke about, they’ll willingly buy an informative paper along with L’Humanité, but they wouldn’t touch another political sheet. Even if the SRL walked hand in hand with the Communist Party, it wouldn’t change a thing. Stick a label on L’Espoir, and it immediately becomes suspect.’ Henri shrugged his shoulders. ‘The day we’re read only by the members of the SRL, we may just as well close up shop.’

‘But membership would increase enormously if we had the help of a paper.’