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
