‘The
History of Romanian Literature – A compendium’ written by George Călinescu fades
confronted with “Approximate adventures” written by Vlad Mușatescu. Not to mention that it does not
have the same charm. Reading recommendations, writers, poets, literary critics,
everyone – whether famous or not or people who would have had all the chances
to become famous but luck decided otherwise – is mentioned here. My first
reading of “Approximate adventures” found me not totally
ready to understand the literary value of these jewels of books. Today, I read
them once again and take notes. I write the names of those mentioned in these
books, and then I will search and read their works. Vlad lives on! Not only
through his wonderful work, but also through the inheritance of literary
recommendation he has left us.
Enjoy
the fragment below:
“He
was not alone. Beside him there was an old, pale and anxious man, covered by
the fumes of old age, a little bit crooked despite the height that exceeded the
normal and who was resting his hand on the shoulder of a gentle little girl
with bright eyes, which color I could not determine.
Acknowledging
his rudeness, Tătălici hurried to introduce me to him, differently than how it
should have been:
‘Petre Bellu and his niece!...’
I am
not sure if I remember correctly; if he said niece or daughter. Well, it has no
importance now, after so many years. As soon as I heard his name, my motors
started to work. And had the visualization of the covers of some books from the
’15 lei collection’: “The Defender may speak now” and “The Case of Mrs.Predescu”. At the date when they were published, they caused quite a commotion,
and Petre Bellu swiftly became a celebrity.
Being
a little moved by the situation, I warmly shook hands with him and I stated
with infinite admiration:
‘Master,
Mr. Bellu, you can’t begin to imagine how happy I am to meet you! And still
alive… I thought you were gone. For so many years, quite an eternity, nobody
has mentioned you. Well, it’s normal considering your honorable age!...’
‘Oh.
So how many years do you think I am, dear sir?’, asked me the popular novelist,
showing some surprise.
‘In
any event, not more than seventy, seventy-two, the most!’
Actually,
I cut some years from the age I thought he looked like.
‘Oh
my! Do I look that good?!, exclaimed Petre Bellu. Well, good for me, dear sir!
This year I’ll turn fifty-four years old. It’s good, isn’t it?!
In
that moment, I felt my vocal cords paralyzing. And, obviously, I couldn’t utter
a word. Bratoloveanu had turned
yellow, I turned red, and the little gentle girl was panting, ready to start
crying. I had dropped a brick.
Petre Bellu, noticing the ridicule of
the situation that I had so unskillfully created, with my own sensible and
appreciative antennas, threw me a rope. He uttered a sour chuckle and kindly
invited me.
‘Well,
come with me, sir, and I’ll show you to the villa assigned for your publishing
house. Even though I seem to you to be a million years old, I will help you
with your luggage. Where is it?’
‘I
left it in front of the composers’ villa!’
‘Perfect!
They do not steal. Or maybe they do, but rarely. And only songs they hear on
the radio. I realize that every time I switch the radio for London, Paris or
Rome broadcasting stations. And lately, for Moscow, too.’
Guided
by Petre Bellu, Tătălici Bratoloveanu and
the girl, I finally arrived to the resting villa assigned for The State
Publishing House.”
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