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PROUST Marcel (1871-1922).
L.A.S. "Bunnnn", Tuesday [May 23, 1911, to Reynaldo HAHN | 4 pages in-8
Beautiful letter to his friend, about Ida Rubinstein's Martyre de Saint Sébastien. [Proust attended the dress rehearsal of Le Martyre de Saint Sébastien by Gabriele D'ANNUNZIO, music by Claude DEBUSSY, danced by Ida RUBINSTEIN, on May 21]. "Little Gunimels, Forgive me my monstrous selfishness for involving you in my stupid agitations, my state of health was my excuse. And alas, on seeing your letter again I saw the news of this death [Leni Falk, née Seligman, niece of Reynaldo Hahn, died May 22], making all this sterile agitation fade away beside the real sorrows, the terrible life that is too often forgotten. For a few days now, I've been thinking about your poor little nephew [Édouard Seligman, Leni's brother, died in 1907], the deaf-mute, whom I often think about, whom I often dream about, one of the few people for whom I cannot believe that existence is over and that he has no compensation elsewhere for his incomplete life. [...]
Dear Buncht, involved without interruption in my whole life (I wrote you several letters yesterday).
All that is foreign in Annunzio has taken refuge in Me Rubinstein's accent. But as for the style, how can you believe it's by a foreigner? How many Frenchmen write with such precision? As I always end up coming to your opinions, I found the legs of Me Rubinstein (who looks half like Clomenil [the courtesan Léonie de Clomesnil], half like Maurice de Rothschild) sublime. That was it for me, everything. But I found the play quite boring, despite some moments, and the music pleasant, but very thin, very inadequate, quite overwhelmed by the subject, the advertising and the orchestra quite immense for these q.q. farts. In the temple of Act 3, I was convinced that it was the march of the Petits Joyeux [a song by Aristide Bruant] that was being played. But at the very end, under the stiffly beamed sun, after the death of St Sebastian, there's a beautiful joyous instrumental"... And he adds: "It's a black oven for the poet and the musician. We didn't even come to say the names".
Correspondance, t. X, n° 139, p. 288.
L.A.S. "Bunnnn", Tuesday [May 23, 1911, to Reynaldo HAHN | 4 pages in-8
Beautiful letter to his friend, about Ida Rubinstein's Martyre de Saint Sébastien. [Proust attended the dress rehearsal of Le Martyre de Saint Sébastien by Gabriele D'ANNUNZIO, music by Claude DEBUSSY, danced by Ida RUBINSTEIN, on May 21]. "Little Gunimels, Forgive me my monstrous selfishness for involving you in my stupid agitations, my state of health was my excuse. And alas, on seeing your letter again I saw the news of this death [Leni Falk, née Seligman, niece of Reynaldo Hahn, died May 22], making all this sterile agitation fade away beside the real sorrows, the terrible life that is too often forgotten. For a few days now, I've been thinking about your poor little nephew [Édouard Seligman, Leni's brother, died in 1907], the deaf-mute, whom I often think about, whom I often dream about, one of the few people for whom I cannot believe that existence is over and that he has no compensation elsewhere for his incomplete life. [...]
Dear Buncht, involved without interruption in my whole life (I wrote you several letters yesterday).
All that is foreign in Annunzio has taken refuge in Me Rubinstein's accent. But as for the style, how can you believe it's by a foreigner? How many Frenchmen write with such precision? As I always end up coming to your opinions, I found the legs of Me Rubinstein (who looks half like Clomenil [the courtesan Léonie de Clomesnil], half like Maurice de Rothschild) sublime. That was it for me, everything. But I found the play quite boring, despite some moments, and the music pleasant, but very thin, very inadequate, quite overwhelmed by the subject, the advertising and the orchestra quite immense for these q.q. farts. In the temple of Act 3, I was convinced that it was the march of the Petits Joyeux [a song by Aristide Bruant] that was being played. But at the very end, under the stiffly beamed sun, after the death of St Sebastian, there's a beautiful joyous instrumental"... And he adds: "It's a black oven for the poet and the musician. We didn't even come to say the names".
Correspondance, t. X, n° 139, p. 288.