Autograph letter signed by Marguerite Yourcenar, dated 23 January 1957, two pages in black ink on a single sheet, with the original envelope included.
On two densely written pages, Yourcenar confides her editorial frustrations to her close friend, the painter Elie Grekoff, recounting the blasphemous act of her publisher, who had torn in "en deux ou plutôt en quatre" [‘two or rather four’] the dedicated copy of her poetry collection Les Charités d’Alcippe (1956) and returned it to her by post. She discusses joint projects with Grekoff and requests that he accept the profits from a work he illustrated for her.
Yourcenar writes from the United States, which she joined in 1939 with her companion Grace Frick, then a professor of British literature in New York. From 1950 onwards, they settled on Mont Déserts Island, bordering Canada, in a house named Petite-Plaisance, which she mentions in the handwritten letterhead. Amidst the wild nature and crystalline lakes, she would write there some of her most celebrated works, including The Abyss. Through the text, we catch fleeting images of the author’s reclusive existence: « Ici, travail abrutissant, favorisé par les grands froids, qui font qu'on ne sort qu'un bref moment, ou quand on y est obligé. Correction d'épreuves, correspondance en retard depuis des mois, traduction, et enfin le livre en train [...] les journaux arrivent très régulièrement, et si vite, dans le cas du Monde, que j'apprends par lui les nouvelles de New York avant d'avoir le temps d'aller au village acheter le New York Times » [“The work here is grueling, compounded by the bitter cold, so that one ventures outside only for a short while, or out of necessity. Proofreading, months of overdue letters, translation, and finally the book underway […] the newspapers come so promptly and consistently, particularly Le Monde, that I hear the New York news from it before I even manage to go to the village and buy the New York Times”.]
The most poignant passage of the letter concerns her stormy dealings with her publisher Curvers, regarding her neoclassical-spirited poetry collection Les Charités d'Alcippe. Yourcenar recounts the publisher’s unforgivable act, enraged by her reproaches over the premature release of the collection: "Toute la légalité (et le sens commun) sont de mon côté, mais cela n'a pas empêché l'irascible liégeois de me renvoyer un ex. des 'Charités d'Alcippe' déchiré en deux ou plutôt en quatre. L'époque est à la violence [‘All legality (and common sense) was on my side, yet that irascible man from Liège still sent me back a copy of Les Charités d'Alcippe, torn in two-or rather, in four. These are times defined by violence.’] “The affair of the gentleman from Liège,” as mentioned in the letter, ultimately resulted in a full-fledged legal dispute through attorneys. The writer’s uncompromising standards and constant concern for copyright earned her several disputes, including two lawsuits—one with the director Jean Marchat, and another with her publisher Plon.
The letter’s recipient, Élie Grekoff (1914–1985), painter, illustrator, and master bookbinder, remained a close confidant of the writer for decades and collaborated with her on several editorial and theatrical projects. Among his contributions, he designed the scenery for her Sartre-inspired play, Electre ou la chute des masques, which premiered at the Théâtre des Mathurins. The letter also bears witness to two of their artistic collaborations: the edition of a Latin classic and of a renowned Hindu poem, the Gita-Govinda, both annotated by Yourcenar and illustrated by Grekoff.
In a few beautifully gracious lines, Yourcenar entreats him to accept the proceeds, probably stemming from the 1956 publication of Laevius’s Bagatelles d’Amour: "merci Elie, et je vous en prie, considérez les trente huit mille qui restent comme vôtres, puisque nous n'en avons que faire en ce moment. Et quand je dis comme vôtres, je ne parle pas seulement comme vous le faisiez, du cas de force majeure, guerre, accident ou maladie, mais aussi en vue de rendre un peu plus commode la vie journalière - provisions de charbon, si l'on peut de nouveau en faire, ou achat de sympathiques conserves et repas au restaurant qui vous éviteront l'ennui de faire la cuisine quand vous préféreriez dessiner". [‘thank you, Élie, and I beg you to regard the remaining thirty-eight thousand as entirely yours, for we have no need of them at present. And when I say “yours,” I do not mean only, as you did, in cases of force majeure, war, accident, or illness, but also to make daily life a little more convenient - coal supplies, if they can be had again, or the purchase of pleasant preserves and meals at a restaurant, sparing you the tedium of cooking when you would rather be drawing’.]
A delightful and copious letter from the first woman to be elected to the Académie Française, confronting her publisher and confiding to a trusted friend her fight to safeguard the integrity of her work.
