Monsieur Proust: A Memoir by Céleste Albaret
This was a recommendation from my friend, Robert, who really never misses a book recommendation. He must read my nerdy reader soul. He mentioned that this was the primary reference in every other biography he had read of the French writer.
I bought it immediately.
Albaret was Proust’s housekeeper and confidant from 1913 to his death in 1922. Proust demanded discretion from those close to him, and he got it from Albaret until she dictated this book at the age of 82 correcting the folklore surrounding the reclusive writer.
She provides a detailed account of his days, or rather nights as he was largely nocturnal. Sensitive to light and sound, she does describe the cork lined room of lore and the blackout curtains. Also sensitive to dust, his apartments were largely unheated as he spent his time laying in bed covered in woolen garments and water bottles for warmth.
He took his coffee mid afternoon and ate very little. Sometimes, he’d summon Albaret or her husband, who was his chauffeur, to fetch a pastry or a fresh beer, but upon receiving such items, he rarely consumed them.
When he did go out late at night, she would tidy the room for him, carefully changing his sheets and ordering his piles of notes as he wished. When he returned, they’d talk for hours about what he saw while he was out.
Everything was fodder for his books.
She describes his process of getting access to people he found interesting by getting close to those around them until an introduction could be made.
While his behavior seems curt, Albaret seems thoroughly devoted to him. When her husband is drafted, she moves into the home and never leaves. There is no implied physical relationship but a deeply emotional one. She mentions that she can ascertain his wishes without words.
With regard to the writing process, she describes his obsessive note taking and a series of books in which he kept notes as he wrote. Some fun anecdotes:
- He reclined in bed and wrote. Albaret notes that he was given a writing desk and noted he’s never used it.
- He used Sergeant-Major nibs, which were plain and pointed and a little hollow underneath to hold ink and had 15 or so pen holders within reach. He used just wood or metal holders for the nibs.
- His room contained a bamboo table laden with books, handkerchiefs, and inexpensive watches. Albaret notes they could be purchased for 5 francs.
- He wore reading glasses starting in 1918. He never went to an ophthalmologist. He just bought an entire group of glasses, selected the ones he wanted, and didn’t return the rest.
- He always kept all work within easy reach of his bed.
- He had several types of notebooks including old exercise books that contained clean transcriptions of past work including some done in adolescence. They were black and numbered in white paint to 32. Albaret noted the numbers looked like they were finger painted. These books didn’t travel with him, and Albaret burned them at his request, 2 or 3 at a time, in the kitchen stove. She notes that these books contained the beginning of his final books.
- The new exercise books were purchased by her at a stationary store and contained his current work. A total of 75 of these are now housed in the Bibliothèque nationale de France.
- He had three exercise books that just contained notes.
- He had a series of what she called “Little notebooks,” which were tall and narrow with dandyish figures on the cover.
- He had paperoles (her coinage), which were odd notes written on scraps of paper, envelopes and magazines.
- He kept reference books but rarely consulted them.
- He glued pieces of paper to the side of proofs to include changes. These were known as “paste-ons.”
Death is a frequent topic of their conversation, and with his uneven days, poor health, and lack of nourishment, you can see the end coming. He tells Albaret that they’ll go on vacation when his book is finally finished. When he writes, “the End.”
Cher Time 