Translations:CP 03780/5/en: Difference between revisions

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(Created page with "Your letter<ref name="n2" /> does not persuade me at all and what saddens me more is that mine (you are undoubtedly speaking of the letter before last<ref name="n3" /> because I do not see what in the last<ref name="n4" /> could have had this effect, nor indeed, I must say, in the one before last) disheartens you. I would only want your joy and hence it is me who is disheartened. You are fixating on language, when you say that you are a publisher, not a printer <ref name...")
 
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Your letter<ref name="n2" /> does not persuade me at all and what saddens me more is that mine (you are undoubtedly speaking of the letter before last<ref name="n3" /> because I do not see what in the last<ref name="n4" /> could have had this effect, nor indeed, I must say, in the one before last) disheartens you. I would only want your joy and hence it is me who is disheartened. You are fixating on language, when you say that you are a publisher, not a printer <ref name="n5" />. Because a publisher, in principle, shares in the duties of printing these books. You have been a director of theatre in America and I think that it is to that, much more than to the distinction that you make between printer and publisher, that I owe the most botched publication of l’Ombre des Jeunes filles en fleurs that one can see. Let us admit for an instant that all the faults are mine, there are proofreaders for a reason. You tell me that you have been from printer to printer, I thank you for it and I am confused about it, but then all that has been to return to the same one, since it is the same name that was said to me in December when we left Semeuse<ref name="n6" />. Perhaps it has for that matter admirable qualities, but I beg you to keep a copy of the pages that he has extracted from À l’Ombre des Jeunes filles en fleurs for the Nouvelle Revue Française. We will read them one evening together one evening at the Ritz or at mine and you will see what is this miracle. Grant me this pleasure and I promise you a real “stupefaction”<ref name="n7" />. My dear friend and publisher, you seem to reproach me for my editing techniques<ref name="n8" />. I realise that they complicate everything (not in the case of the Revue, at any rate!). But when you asked me to leave Grasset to come to you, you knew this, because you came with Copeau, who before Grasset’s redrafted proof, wrote: “But this is a new book!” I am apologising to you in two ways, the first by saying that all moral quality has the function of material difference. As you have the goodness to find richness that appeals to you in my writing, you can recognise that it is precisely due to this overindulgence that I reinfuse it by living, which physically translates into these additions. You can also recognise that, just as you gave me a great demonstration of friendship in asking me for my books, it is also in friendship that I gave them to you. When I sent you the Swann manuscript and you refused it, it was of interest to me that the brilliance of your publishing house could represent this book a little. Since it appeared in Grasset’s publishing house, I don’t know how, but it managed to get lots of supporters, so much so that I could publish the following parts through Grasset without fearing that they would go unnoticed. I did as I was told by taking them away from him and leaving them with you, based on a friendship thought to be as fond as ours. Alas, you left, I haven’t stopped receiving books from the others (for there are publishers that have printers, you would believe it if you saw the pile of uncut works I have received which are in my bedroom) but no page proofs. I think that they will arrive. I no longer have the same strength and that is maybe why I, in turn, will be a bit slow. Provided that everything will be published in my lifetime, that would be good, and if it were to happen<ref name="n9" /> differently, I have left all my notebooks numbered so that you would take them, and I count on you to publish in their entirety<ref name="n10" />. I have not yet reached the other points of your letter. But fatigue stops me, and I leave you with a handshake.
Your letter<ref name="n2" /> does not persuade me at all and what saddens me more is that mine (you are undoubtedly speaking of the letter before last<ref name="n3" /> because I do not see what in the last<ref name="n4" /> could have had this effect, nor indeed, I must say, in the one before last) "disheartens" you. All I want is for you to be happy and hence it is me who is disheartened. You are playing with words when you say that you are a publisher, not a printer <ref name="n5" />. Because one of the principal duties of a publisher is the printing of his books. You have been a theatre director in America and I think that it is to that, much more than to the distinction that you make between printer and publisher, that I owe the most botched publication of l’Ombre des Jeunes filles en fleurs imaginable. Let us admit for an instant that all the faults are mine, there are proofreaders for a reason. You tell me that you have been from printer to printer, I thank you for it and that is an embarrassment to me, but after all that it has just meant going back to the same one, since it is the same name that was given to me in December when we left Semeuse<ref name="n6" />. He may well have admirable qualities, but I beg you to keep a copy of the pages that he has extracted from À l’Ombre des Jeunes filles en fleurs for the Nouvelle Revue Française. We will read them one evening together one evening at the Ritz or at mine and you will see what a miracle worker he is. Grant me this pleasure and I promise you a real “stupefaction”<ref name="n7" />. My dear friend and publisher, you seem to reproach me for my editing techniques<ref name="n8" />. I realise that they complicate everything (not in the case of the Revue, at any rate!). But when you asked me to leave Grasset to come to you, you knew this, because you came with Copeau, who before Grasset’s redrafted proof, exclaimed, “But this is a new book!” I am apologising to you in two ways, the first by saying that all moral quality requires material change. As you have the goodness to find richness that appeals to you in my writing, you can recognise that it is precisely due to this overindulgence that I reinfuse it by living, which physically translates into these additions. You can also recognise that, just as you gave me a great demonstration of friendship in asking me for my books, it is also in friendship that I gave them to you. When I sent you the Swann manuscript and you refused it, it may have been to my advantage that the brilliance of your publishing house added a little lustre to my book. Since it appeared in Grasset’s publishing house, I don’t know how, but it managed to get lots of supporters, so much so that I could publish the following parts through Grasset without fearing that they would go unnoticed. I did as I was told by taking them away from him and leaving them with you, out of a feeling of friendship, as did you. Alas, you left, I haven’t stopped receiving books from the others (for there are publishers that have printers, you would believe it if you saw the pile of uncut works I have received which are in my bedroom) but no page proofs. I think that they will arrive. I no longer have the same strength and that is maybe why I, in turn, will be a bit slow. Provided that everything will be published in my lifetime, that would be good, and if things were to turn out<ref name="n9" /> differently, I have left all my notebooks numbered for you to take, and I count on you to publish them in their entirety<ref name="n10" />. I have not yet reached the other points of your letter. But fatigue stops me, and I leave you with a handshake.

Latest revision as of 17:41, 2 October 2022

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Message definition (CP 03780)
Votre lettre<ref name="n2" /> ne me persuade aucunement. Et je suis triste surtout que la mienne (c'est de l'avant-dernière<ref name="n3" /> que vous parlez sans doute, car je ne vois pas ce qui pourrait avoir eu cet effet dans la dernière<ref name="n4" />, ni d'ailleurs je dois dire dans l'avant-dernière) vous « désespère ». Je ne voudrais que votre joie et c'est donc moi qui suis désespéré. Vous jouez sur les mots quand vous dites que vous êtes éditeur et non imprimeur<ref name="n5" />. Car un éditeur a principalement parmi ses fonctions de faire imprimer ses livres. Vous avez été directeur de théâtre en Amérique et je pense que c'est à cela, bien plus qu'à la distinction que vous faites entre imprimeur et éditeur, que je dois d'avoir de l'Ombre des Jeunes filles en fleurs l'édition la plus sabotée qui se puisse voir. Admettons un instant que toutes les fautes soient de moi, il y a des correcteurs pour quelque chose. Vous me dites que vous avez été d'imprimeur en imprimeur, je vous en remercie et j'en suis confus, mais alors cela a été pour revenir au même, puisque c'est le même nom que celui qui m'a été dit en décembre quand on a quitté la Semeuse<ref name="n6" />. Il a peut-être d'ailleurs d'admirables qualités, mais je vous supplie de garder un double des pages qu'il a extraites de À l'Ombre des Jeunes filles en fleurs pour la Nouvelle Revue française. Nous les lirons un soir ensemble un soir au Ritz ou chez moi et vous verrez quel est ce prodige. Accordez-moi ce plaisir et je vous promets une vraie stupéfaction<ref name="n7" />. Cher ami et éditeur, vous paraissez me reprocher mon système de retouches<ref name="n8" />. Je reconnais qu'il complique tout (pas dans la chose de la Revue, en tous cas !). Mais quand vous m'avez demandé de quitter Grasset pour venir chez vous, vous le connaissiez, car vous êtes venu avec Copeau qui devant les épreuves remaniées de Grasset s'est écrié : « Mais c'est un nouveau livre ! ». Je m'excuse auprès de vous de deux façons, la première c'est en disant que toute qualité morale a pour fonction une différence matérielle. Puisque vous avez la bonté de trouver dans mes livres quelque chose d'un peu riche qui vous plaît, dites-vous que cela est dû précisément à cette surnourriture que je leur réinfuse en vivant, ce qui matériellement se traduit par ces ajoutages. Dites-vous aussi que si vous m'avez donné une grande preuve d'amitié en me demandant mes livres, c'est aussi par amitié que je vous les ai donnés. Quand je vous ai envoyé le manuscrit de Swann et que vous l'avez refusé, il pouvait y avoir intérêt pour moi à ce que l'éclat de votre maison illustrât un peu ce livre. Depuis qu'il a paru chez Grasset, il s'est fait je ne sais comment, tant d'amis, que je pouvais publier les suivants chez Grasset sans craindre qu'ils passassent inaperçus. J'ai obéi en les lui retirant et en les mettant chez vous à une pensée d'amitié, comme vous. Hélas, vous êtes parti, je n'ai cessé de recevoir des livres des autres (car il y a des éditeurs qui ont des imprimeurs, croyez en la pile d'ouvrages reçus et non coupés qui est dans ma chambre) mais pas d'épreuves. Je pense qu'elles viendront. Je n'ai plus les mêmes forces, et c'est peut-être moi à mon tour qui serai un peu lent. Pourvu que tout paraisse de mon vivant ce sera bien, et s'il en advenait<ref name="n9" /> autrement j'ai laissé tous mes cahiers numérotés que vous prendriez et je compte alors sur vous pour faire la publication complète<ref name="n10" />. Je n'ai pas encore abordé d'autres points de votre lettre. Mais la fatigue m'arrête et je vous quitte en vous serrant la main

Your letter[1] does not persuade me at all and what saddens me more is that mine (you are undoubtedly speaking of the letter before last[2] because I do not see what in the last[3] could have had this effect, nor indeed, I must say, in the one before last) "disheartens" you. All I want is for you to be happy and hence it is me who is disheartened. You are playing with words when you say that you are a publisher, not a printer [4]. Because one of the principal duties of a publisher is the printing of his books. You have been a theatre director in America and I think that it is to that, much more than to the distinction that you make between printer and publisher, that I owe the most botched publication of l’Ombre des Jeunes filles en fleurs imaginable. Let us admit for an instant that all the faults are mine, there are proofreaders for a reason. You tell me that you have been from printer to printer, I thank you for it and that is an embarrassment to me, but after all that it has just meant going back to the same one, since it is the same name that was given to me in December when we left Semeuse[5]. He may well have admirable qualities, but I beg you to keep a copy of the pages that he has extracted from À l’Ombre des Jeunes filles en fleurs for the Nouvelle Revue Française. We will read them one evening together one evening at the Ritz or at mine and you will see what a miracle worker he is. Grant me this pleasure and I promise you a real “stupefaction”[6]. My dear friend and publisher, you seem to reproach me for my editing techniques[7]. I realise that they complicate everything (not in the case of the Revue, at any rate!). But when you asked me to leave Grasset to come to you, you knew this, because you came with Copeau, who before Grasset’s redrafted proof, exclaimed, “But this is a new book!” I am apologising to you in two ways, the first by saying that all moral quality requires material change. As you have the goodness to find richness that appeals to you in my writing, you can recognise that it is precisely due to this overindulgence that I reinfuse it by living, which physically translates into these additions. You can also recognise that, just as you gave me a great demonstration of friendship in asking me for my books, it is also in friendship that I gave them to you. When I sent you the Swann manuscript and you refused it, it may have been to my advantage that the brilliance of your publishing house added a little lustre to my book. Since it appeared in Grasset’s publishing house, I don’t know how, but it managed to get lots of supporters, so much so that I could publish the following parts through Grasset without fearing that they would go unnoticed. I did as I was told by taking them away from him and leaving them with you, out of a feeling of friendship, as did you. Alas, you left, I haven’t stopped receiving books from the others (for there are publishers that have printers, you would believe it if you saw the pile of uncut works I have received which are in my bedroom) but no page proofs. I think that they will arrive. I no longer have the same strength and that is maybe why I, in turn, will be a bit slow. Provided that everything will be published in my lifetime, that would be good, and if things were to turn out[8] differently, I have left all my notebooks numbered for you to take, and I count on you to publish them in their entirety[9]. I have not yet reached the other points of your letter. But fatigue stops me, and I leave you with a handshake.

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