The Bed

There are about 130 museums here in Paris.  Yesterday I went to Musee Carnavalet to see an exhibit about Marcel Proust.  This is the 150th year of Proust's birth.  (1871 - 1922).  Proust wrote the world's longest novel.  I've never read it, but some say this masterpiece, In Search of Lost Time, changed literature forever. 

Proust's bedroom is replicated in the exhibit. The bed has a satin coverlet, midnight blue. Super attractive, and yet the pillows are much flatter than typical pillows. I wondered how Proust could have written one million words after a night in that rig.  I stepped over the thin, slack rope hanging in front of the bedroom like a fourth wall and had myself a little lie down on Proust's bed. Verdict: Not comfortable. I feel sorry for Marcel Proust, and my admiration for his accomplishments has swelled enormously, especially considering his probable sleep deprivation.

Come to find out, I'm now no longer "welcome" in the Musee Carnavalet, which really cheeses me off.  I wanted Mari Homme to see the Proust exhibit with me over the weekend. (He says he's fine with it, but still). 

There was not one sign that said you could not lie on the bed.  I explained that I'm American, and that museums are different over here, but they didn't seem to care one whit.

C'est la vie, mes amies. I have about 100 more museums to visit in our remaining 2 months here, so I'm going to be just fine.