Back in Provence, I reread this extract from Léon Daudet’s “Salons et journaux” with a smile 🦌🌳…
Translated from French.
Back in Provence, I smiled 🦌🌳 as I reread this extract from Léon Daudet’s “Salons et journaux”, published in 1932:
🖋️ “At about half past seven, a pale young man with doe-like eyes arrived at Weber’s, sucking or fiddling with half of his drooping brown moustache, wrapped in woollens like a Chinese trinket. He asked for a bunch of grapes and a glass of water, and declared that he had only just got out of bed, that he had the flu, that he was going back to bed, that the noise was giving him a headache; he cast anxious, then mocking ones, before finally bursting into enchanted laughter and staying put. Soon remarks of extraordinary novelty and insights of diabolical subtlety would emerge from his lips, uttered in a hesitant and hasty tone. His unexpected images fluttered above things and people, like sublime music […]. He was the author of that original, often bewildering, promising book: “Swann's Way”; it was Marcel Proust.”
📔 Marcel Proust’s Circle, IV
@honorechampion 2025 👀
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