tesquiou calls the author (whom he knew intimately) a praiseworthy arriviste, and his book, "un livre tatillonissime," pushed into undue prominence by a conspiracy between Léon Daudet, Robert de Flers, and Reynaldo Hahn. The character inspired by himself he admits to be "un personnage extrêmement bien peint," and he promises to supplement these remarks with "nouvelles observations fort curieuses." Alas, this promise seems never to have been fulfilled. But the recent sale of his library included some two hundred letters from the correspondence between him and Proust. It is earnestly to be hoped that the purchaser can quickly publish them. There is evidence that Montesquiou exerted considerable influence upon Proust, particularly in the matter of style, by his conversation as well as by his writings. When reading the Memoirs one is continually reminded of A la Recherche du Temps Perdu by their preciousness and precision, and by the elaboration with which some particularly evasive sentiment is pursued in all its ramifications, and eventually defined with the help of the most unexpected comparisons. It must be impossible for those who did not personally know Montesquiou to decide how directly he was portrayed in Proust's book. The creator of the Guermantes always maintained himself that his characters were composite. And in the volumes of his work which have so far appeared, there is little reference to Montesquiou's literary and artistic activities. But no one who has read his Proust properly can look at the Memoirs without realizing that in essentials the portrait in the novel is a masterpiece of resemblance as well as of art. As a sample, here is Montesquiou's description of a young pianist who had set to music some of his verses:
"Cette première rencontre appréciable de ma poésie avec son adaptation musicale m'avait causé assez de surprise, et je l'avoue, d'agrément, pour me donner le désir d'exalter celui à qui je les devais. J'allai le voir, dans un appartement assez bas, mais assez vaste, du quartier d'Antin, assez obscur et triste aussi, garni de meubles quelconques, parmi lesquels l'immense Erard apparaissait comme un dolmen de palissandre, teint du sang luisant et noirci des victimes du concert payant. D'une telle emprise, exclusivement exercée sur deux existences, disons-le, dignes et pures, par un meuble sonore, je ressentis alors plus ou moins nettement ce qu'elle offrait de noble, sous forme de conviction, de devoir accompli, de dévoue-
