One Child Might Invite Another

I’ve had a few uninspired reading choices this fall.  One after another book that was supposed to be remarkable left me flat.  What a pleasure then to duck off into the bathroom, time and again this week to spend time with Rene François-René de Chateaubriand and his “Memoirs from Beyond the Grave”, written towards the end of his life.   They are thus far, short snippets of his maturation in Brittany before his trips to America, before the French Revolution.

"Spring in Brittany is milder than spring in Paris and bursts into flower three weeks earlier.  The five birds that herald it appearance - the swallow, the oriole, the cuckoo, the quail and the nightingale, arrive with the breezes that refuge in the bays of Armorican peninsula.  The earth is covered over with daisies, pansies, jonquils, daffodils, hyacinths, buttercups and anemones, like the wastelands around San Giovanni of Literanao and the Holy Cross of Jerusalem in Rome.  The clearings are feathered with tall and elegant ferns: the fields of gorse and broom blaze with flowers that one my take at first glance for golden butterflies . . . "

Beyond being an astute observer of local flora and fauna, Chateubriand lures us into his early world of Combourg as one child might invite another over and we are intimidated by his older brother’s bravado and terrified by the priests prying into his soul, looking for sin withheld.  The salt is in the air and aggressive British boats are never far off at sea.  People come into port who have been all the way around the world and we all want to be like them.

I made the mistake of reminding myself just what the contours of Brittany are.  The peninsula that juts out like Shandong going in the wrong direction at the other end of the Eurasian landmass is a place I’ve known about atmospherically, forever.  The name of course, signifies the historical Celtic ties, ties to Britain.  With the ache of an addict I considered the coast line and castle of St. Michelle and allowed myself for a moment to consider what it would be like to visit this part of France that I’d never seen, to stitch together one more piece of European history. 

One of my dearest friends hails from Brittany.  I’ve always discussed it with him in the abstract.  Now, suddenly I wanted to connect on it.  I transcribed the quote above and sent it to him, asking if he’d ever read Chateaubriand.  A few days on I haven’t heard back.  And I suspect that if that wasn’t an inert email address of his, as may have happened, it is more likely that he’s busy.  I got a lovely letter from another friend two weeks back and I’ve yet to make time to write him back either, as something thoughtful is required.  Indeed, he was the one who’d originally recommended “Memoires From Beyond the Grave.”

Friday 10/05/18