[One Thousand Characters a Day] Proust's 'Tuileries Park'

Editor's NoteAsia Economy provides daily 1,000-character transcription content for the 'Harumanbo Harucheonja' newsletter readers. The transcription content is carefully selected and delivered daily and monthly according to themes from Eastern and Western classics, Korean literature, famous columns, and notable speeches. Starting today, over five installments, we introduce A Reverie in the Colors of Time, a collection of early prose poems that offer a glimpse into the youthful literary world of the French literary figure Marcel Proust. These works mark the nascent stage of Proust's unique method of evoking past emotions and memories through the five senses, such as smell and touch. Professor Geonsu Lee (Department of French Language and Literature, Chungnam National University), who translated the book, comments, "The endlessly flowing, sprawling sentences, the intuitive impressions suddenly produced by the unconscious through associative processes while observing surrounding objects, and the complexly intertwined musical-like cyclical structure are so similar that it is difficult to distinguish them from Proust's later masterpiece In Search of Lost Time." The text contains 941 characters.

This morning, the sun in the Tuileries Garden was sliding down the stone steps one by one as if still half asleep. The shadow of the passing sun seemed about to awaken the blond youth who was dozing lightly. Against the backdrop of the old palace, young sprouts were turning green. The breath of the wind, as if enchanted by something, mixed the fresh scent of lilac with the smell of the past. The statues, which often frightened us like the sudden appearance of a madwoman, stood dreamily under the arch of the small oak trees here. Their dazzling white forms amidst the greenery resembled sages. The basin, where the blue sky had settled, shone as if it were a human gaze.

Beyond the riverside terrace, in the ancient neighborhood of Quai d'Orsay (French Ministry of Foreign Affairs) across the Seine River, a guard seemed to be passing by as if returning to the past. Wildflowers were profusely invading over the geranium pots. The burning passionflower under the sun was burning its own fragrance. The poppies in front of the Louvre Palace stretched their necks like lively masts, dignified pillars, or blushing young ladies. The rainbow-colored fountain jets rose toward the sky as if thirsty for love. At the end of the terrace, the statue of a knight, galloping in place and joyfully blowing a trumpet, embodied all this springtime passion.

But then the sky darkened, and it looked as if rain could fall at any moment. The basins, no longer shining with the light of the sky, appeared like empty eyes without gaze or jars filled with tears. The fountain jets, whipped by even the lightest breeze, shook violently. Their hurried shooting of a now laughable hymn toward the sky seemed absurd. The once sweet scent of lilac flowers, now meaningless, turned into boundless sorrow. And over there, the knight, fiercely urging the motionless gallop of his marble horse with his two legs, continued to blow his trumpet unconsciously against the dark sky.

- Marcel Proust, A Reverie in the Colors of Time, translated by Geonsu Lee, Minumsa, 13,000 KRW

This content was produced with the assistance of AI translation services.