Proust's Way

Proust's Way

Proust's Way

Proust's Way

Excerpt

I saw Barrès for the last time at Marcel Proust's funeral. He was standing in front of the Church of Saint-Pierre de Chaillot, with his bowler on his head and his umbrella hanging from his arm. He was astonished at the clamor of fame all about the deceased whom he had known quite well and rather liked, I believe, without suspecting his greatness.

"Well, what's it all about! . . . he was our young man . . ." he kept repeating to me, meaning by that that he had always located Marcel Proust on the other side of the chancel with the worshipers and disciples, he the most intelligent and discernning of all, to be sure, and the one who knew how to burn the most flattering incense under the nose of every master; but . . .

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