Marcel PROUST (1871-1922). L.A.S. "Marcel", [15 August 1902], to his mother, 4 pages in-8. Fénelon and Brancovan having given up on him, Proust went "to dine alone at Larue. Alone, I should say, because I am the only customer and perhaps sixty electric lamps are burning for me (I have no qualms about this because they also burn when no one is there). What unfortunately came at the appointment was an asthma attack, which has only just begun. I don't know whether to blame the lack of a bed or the lack of enemas. In any case, it's annoying, without being terrible! The Fénelon Brancovan dinner didn't distract me by itself because it didn't take place, but because I thought it would, and the preparations, etc., made it very difficult. Vaquez advised me not to indulge in either morphine (he needn't be afraid!) or alcohol, which he also considers fatal in all its forms. He wonders how sick people don't have enough of their illnesses and go on making themselves sick, making themselves miserable for people who aren't worth it. I admired this philosopher, whom I believe to be a stickler. If you gave me a thousand grave oaths, I'd write you something fascinating. But can I have absolute confidence, more than for waking up in the morning. I am infinitely less sad. I still don't miss you"... Correspondence, t. III, n° 47.