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Within a Budding Grove, “Place Names – The Place,” p. 344-345
Oh, Little M.. HORSES WHOSE HOOVES TRAMPLED MY HEART.
He's been sent to Balbec, the long-anticipated seaside town, along with his grandmother, “for his health.” The doctor told him to have some brandy before he left, to soothe his system and avoid an “attack;” in order not to alarm his grandmother, he drank too much and spent the journey hypnotized by the blinds of the railway carriage, and arrived more feverish and dazzled than ever.
I am currently imagining Little M. as played by David Mazouz from Gotham.
At Combray, since we were known to everyone, I took heed of no one. In seaside life one does not know one's neighbours. I was not yet old enough, and was still too sensitive to have outgrown the desire to find favour in the sight of other people and to possess their hearts. Nor had I acquired the more noble indifference which a man of the world would have felt toward the people who were eating in he dining-room, or the boys and girls who strolled past the window, with whom I was pained by the thought that I should never be allowed to go on expeditions, though not so pained as if my grandmother, contemptuous of social formalities and concerned only with my health, had gone to them with the request, humiliating for me, that they should consent to allow me to accompany them. Whether they were returning to some villa beyond my ken, or had emerged from one, racquet in hand, on their way to a tennis court, or were riding horses whose hooves trampled my heart, I gazed at them with a passionate curiosity, in that blinding light of the beach by which social distinctions are altered, I followed all their movements through the transparency of that great bay of glass which allowed so much light to flood the room. But it intercepted the wind, and this was a defect in the eyes of my grandmother, who, unable to endure the thought that I was losing the benefit of an hour in the open air, surreptitiously opened a pane and at once sent flying, together with the menus, the newspapers, veils and hats of all the people at the other tables, while she herself, fortified by the celestial draught, remained calm and smiling like Saint Blandina amid the torrents of invective which, increasing my sense of isolation and misery, those contemptuous, dishevelled, furious visitors combined to pour on us.
Within a Budding Grove, “Place Names – The Place,” p. 344-345
Oh, Little M.. HORSES WHOSE HOOVES TRAMPLED MY HEART.
He's been sent to Balbec, the long-anticipated seaside town, along with his grandmother, “for his health.” The doctor told him to have some brandy before he left, to soothe his system and avoid an “attack;” in order not to alarm his grandmother, he drank too much and spent the journey hypnotized by the blinds of the railway carriage, and arrived more feverish and dazzled than ever.
I am currently imagining Little M. as played by David Mazouz from Gotham.
