220 - Henri MICHAUX. Correspondence with Jacques Olivier and Georgette Fourcade. 1929–1947.

Henri MICHAUX. Correspondence with Jacques Olivier and Georgette Fourcade. 1929–1947. 52 signed autograph letters, notes, and cards; 48 pages in-8 or in-12; 18 envelopes. Exceptional, previously unpublished correspondence with his closest friend, confidant, and publisher Jacques-Olivier Fourcade (1901–1966) and his wife Georgette. The letters addressed to the man Michaux affectionately nicknamed “Old Jack,” “Old Man,” “my old friend,” or “dear old pipe” offer a particularly moving account of this special friendship. Take, for example, this letter written from Belgium on July 23, 1935: I’m the only one crying. If this is my country! And yet I sought out the only village where they speak German! It’s always the things we don’t have to understand. Cheap—of course. But you have to get drunk to put up with this country, so… Write to me. I need you to write to me. Anything at all, naturally. I get the jitters when I think I might no longer live in France. And live among these narrow-minded people. Several letters from the early 1930s allow us to follow Michaux on his travels around the world—from Spain to the Far East, India, the Canary Islands, Portugal, and Africa. His impressions are conveyed in a telegraphic, even elliptical style, yet not without humor, as in this postcard sent from Canton in April 1932 (reproduced in the BnF exhibition catalog, p. 25): Dear Fohá: China—impossible to see anything, and yet… But Chinese women are the wonders of the universe. Awaiting your news and a letter of recommendation (to the Belgian consulate in Tokyo) for Japan. And the movies? I write, I write… and am reborn. Will only return to France for a short time. I want to live in the United States or England. I no longer understand French. Please write to me—I beg you. Best regards to Georgette. If you’re too lazy, tell Georgette to write to me—Yours, Henri The correspondence frequently mentions the Fourcade home in Meudon. He invites himself there for the first time since the Perey 5 residence in the Cité du Rétiro via a postcard: “Have your children in Germany. They’re the most beautiful.” But I couldn’t go to Germany, and I have no need for children. Rather, I need a little rest here, since I can’t get away from Paris. Didn’t you once, in the year X, suggest that I come spend a few days in Meudon while you were away? Rake your memory… and besides, you’re quite capable of doing so. All I’d need is to be able to go there sometimes in the afternoon, to do a little drawing (pastels, if I can find them), and above all, to do nothing—which is what I need. Do others besides your ghosts live there? Would we be disturbing them? Starting in the summer of 1937, Meudon became a refuge and a place of creativity for Michaux. He lived there in a garage converted into a studio, where he drew, wrote, and played the piano. He settled there, in particular, upon his return from Brazil in early 1940. Since his friend had been called to military service, his letters were then addressed to Georgette: It doesn’t seem to be the season for happy returns yet. Meudon has lost its masters, and the garden is a desolate sight. The garage seemed less forbidding, but nothing comes out of it—no water, no gas, no heat—and the light won’t come on. In the evening, I sit by candlelight in a rather unwelcoming cold. The day after tomorrow, the gas men—once they’ve been paid—will, it seems, be kind enough to fill the pipes with their supply, and I’m waiting for electricity (February 9, 1940). Or when spring arrives: S, I’m staying in Meudon. Whatever people may say, being close to Paris is something. In any case, despite the dreadful news—which, of course, everyone is receiving—I feel ten times better here than I did before. Flowers in the garden (those yellow-flowered shrubs out front, in full bloom), the rosebushes and lilacs that promise to be magnificent. In May 1940, Michaux would join his future wife, Marie-Louise, in Tarn-et-Garonne after having “seen Jacques for only a few hours. He was tired, and I was devastated by the Belgian king’s surrender. We missed him!” He left Meudon, not without hope of seeing his friends there again at the end of July. The poet would regularly ask for news of Jacques and Monique, as well as Maurice, their two children, and would seek Georgette’s help during the preparations for an exhibition at the Galerie de l’Abbaye on May 12, 1942: The time to return is approaching. My exhibition opens on June 12, and I’ll be inspecting your plantings then. The only thing missing are frames for the paintings. There are some in the garage just sitting there, gathering dust or rotting away. I assume you go to Paris from time to time. Would you be willing to bring some to the Galerie de l’Abbaye, 16 rue de l’Abbaye (that is, Place Saint-Germain-des-Prés)? It’s for