Hilary Mantel

Everyone is starting newspapers, including people who can't write and who, says Camille, can't even think. The _Révolutions_ stands out; it makes a splash; it also imposes a routine. If the staff is small, temporary and a bit disorganized, this hardly matters; at a push, Camille can write a whole issue himself. What's thirty two pages (in octavo) to a man with so much to say for himself?

Monday and Tuesday they were in the office early, workng on te week's edition. By Wednesday the greater part was ready for the printer. By Wednesday, also, the writs came in for the previous Saturday's libels, though it had been known for the victims to drag their lawyers back from the country on a Sunday morning and get writs served by Tuesday. Challenges to duels came in sporadically, throughout the week.

Thursday was press day. They made the last-minute corrections, then a menial would sprint around to the printer, M. Laffrey, whose premises were on Quai des Augustins. Thursday midday brouight Laffrey and the distributor, M. Garnery, both tearing their hair. Do you want to see the presses impounded, do you want us in gaol? Sit down, have a drink, Camille would say. He rarely agreed to changes; almost never. And they knew that the bigger the risk, the more copies they'd sell.