Marcel Proust blends his mystical tones with the glory of work.

Marcel Proust (1871.1922)

Autographed letter signed to Georges de Lauris.

Eight pages in-12°.

Slnd [Paris. Sunday November 8, 1908]

Kolb, Volume VIII, pages 285-286-87.

"If life brings setbacks, we find solace in them because true life lies elsewhere, not in life itself, nor after, but outside of it."

A long and beautiful letter of life advice, with mystical overtones and a celebration of work.

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"My dear Georges, I'm writing to you briefly about something I haven't told anyone yet. Having caught bronchitis in Versailles and with the paving stones being removed on the Rue des Réservoirs right under my windows, I've returned to Paris amidst the dentist's renovations—the one who's been rented the third floor— ^and am literally suffocating from a poorly adjusted water heater. As soon as I can get up, I'll escape, I don't know where, but first I'll come and see you."

Today closes the exhibition that, above all others, I would have loved to see, featuring the two painters I most adore, El Greco and Monticelli, at the Salon d'Automne, and I couldn't go! ^* Before your accident, when I didn't think I'd ever return to Paris (it served me well, and you were very helpful!), I told myself that wherever I was, even if it had been Venice, I would have come back for 48 hours for this exhibition, which may not be sublime, but which would have been so enriching for me because it corresponded to such a specific moment in my life. And I didn't even have the means to get a ride there in a small car, which I would have done without hesitation. 

I think I'm going to get better, I think I'll come see you. Georges, when you can, work . Ruskin said something sublime , something that should be before your mind every day , when he said that the two great commandments of God (the second ^is almost entirely his own, but that doesn't matter) were:

"Work while you still have the light."

And

“Be merciful while you still have mercy.”. »

Léon Blum, I swear, never said anything so good. After the first ^commandment from St. John comes this phrase: "For soon comes the night when nothing can be done" (I'm quoting incorrectly). I am already, Georges, half in that night despite fleeting appearances that mean nothing. But you, you have the light, you will have it for many years to come, work . So if life brings setbacks, we find solace in them because true life is elsewhere, not in life itself, nor after, but outside , if a term that originates from space has any meaning in a world that is free from it. And mercy, you have had something better than her, love so sweet that the death of your poor mother sometimes doesn't seem terrible to me when I think of all the hope she left behind, of all the precision with which you fulfilled her wish. As for your life with your father, you know what I think about it and that it delights me to think about it.

With me you are very good if I consult my gratitude, less affectionate than good even though you think the opposite, and good with reservations that stem from your unserious nature. But still a thousand times better than I deserve.

Farewell, dear Georges, forgive me for this evangelical sermon . But accidents like yours, which I constantly imagine, should serve as a warning. Work, since God has given you the Light. No, dear Georges, it's useless to look in Léon Blum, nor even, despite what our friends will swear, in Claude Anet; you won't find anything as good there. This doesn't prevent Ruskin's works from often being stupid, obsessive, grating, false, ridiculous, but they are always estimable and always great . He was, as you know, greatly admired by George Eliot, who, despite what Léon Blum may think, was the equal of Marguerite and, who knows, perhaps even Rosny, and who spoke of "those great works that allow one to reconcile despair with the delightful feeling of a life situated outside oneself."

Dear Georges , it's very tiring to write, but it's a pleasure to remind someone who understands and can draw sustenance from beautiful thoughts he knows, and who values ​​the literature of our more or less famous acquaintances only to a very relative degree. All my heart to you, and at present, though coughing endlessly and with a fever, between three open windows at one in the morning to fight the hot water heater. "All that is nothing compared to love, etc." Yours, Marcel.

Tell Lucien Henraux that I like him very much and that I want to point out that all the legends I sent him two years ago, via mutual friends of ours—that is to say, friends of mine and admirers of his, since he doesn't have any friends—received them and took them all. Now Lucien must find them funny and realize that I wasn't so stupid to send them to him. But Forain needed his approval to appreciate them

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^* The Monticelli, Le Greco, Bresdin, Chifflart exhibition, which was held at the Grand Palais des Champs Élysées from October 1 ^to November 8, 1908.