Xavier De Maistre - Lost In Space

 My room is situated on the forty-fifth degree of latitude...it stretches from east to west; it forms a long rectangle, thirty-six paces in circumference if you hug the wall. My journey will, however, measure much more than this, as I will be crossing it frequently lengthwise, or else diagonally, without any rule or method. I will even follow a zigzag path, and I will trace out every possible geometrical trajectory if need be. 

Xavier De Maistre, A Journey Round My Room.

 In the spring of 1790 Xavier De Maistre was placed under house arrest for forty two days after taking part in an illegal duel. Whilst confined to his quarters the Count decided to write a travel log about his adventures there in. The following passages are taken from ‘A Journey Round My Room’ published in 1794.

I. My Great Discovery

In the immense family of men that swarm on the surface of the earth, there is no-one, not one (I am speaking , of course, of those who have rooms to live in) who can, after reading this book refuse his approbation to the new way of travelling which I have invented. It cost nothing, that is the great thing! Thus it is certain of being adopted by the very rich people. Thousands of people who have never thought of travelling will now resolve to follow my example.

II. My Armchair And My Bed

After my armchair, in walking towards the north I discover my bed, which is placed at the end of my room, and there forms a most agreeable perspective. So happily is it arranged that the earliest rays of sunlight come and play on the curtains. I can see them, on fine summer mornings, advancing along the white wall with the rising sun; some elms, growing before my window, divide them in a thousand ways, and make them dance on my bed, which, by reflection, spread all around the room the tint of it’s own charming white and rose pattern. I hear the twittering of the swallows that nest in the roof, and other birds in the elms; a stream of charming thoughts flows into my mind, and in the whole world nobody has an awakening as pleasant and peaceful as mine.

III. The Beast.

Only metaphysicians must read this chapter. It throws a great light on the nature of man. I cannot explain how and why I burnt my fingers at the first step I made in setting out on my journey around my room, until I expose my system of the soul and the beast. In the course of diverse observations I have found out that man is composed of a soul and a beast.

I had laid my tongs on the charcoal to toast my bread, and some time after, while my soul was on her travels, a flaming stump rolled onto the grate; my poor beast went to take up the tongs, and I burnt my fingers.

IV. A Great Picture.

My forty two days are coming to an end, and an equal space of time would not suffice to describe the rich country in which I am now travelling, for I have at last reached my bookshelf. It contains nothing but novels-yes, I shall be candid-nothing but novels and a few choice poets. As though I had not enough troubles of my own, I willingly share in those of a thousand imaginary persons, and I feel them as keenly as if they were mine. What tears have I shed over the unhappiness of Clarissa!

V. In Prison Again.

O charming land of imagination which has been given to men to console them for the realities of life, it is time for me to leave thee. This is the day when certain persons pretend to give me back my freedom, as though they had deprived me of it! As though it were in their power to take it away from me for a single instant, and to hinder me from scouring as I please the vast space always open before me! They have prevented me from going out into a single town-Turin, a mere point on the earth-but they have left to me the entire universe; immensity and eternity have been at my service.

Le Passage de l'Opera

 I was seeking….to use the accepted novel-form as the basis for the production of a new kind of novel that would break all the traditional rules governing the writing of fiction, one that would be neither a narrative nor a character study, a novel that the critics would be obliged to approach empty headed, without any of the weapons which customarily help them exercise their stupid cruelty, because in this instance the rules of the game would all have been swept aside.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Louis Aragon 1969

Paris Peasant is a novel written by the French surrealist and communist Louis Aragon, published in 1926 it uses an aesthetic style of writing known as ‘le merveilleux quotidian’ (magic realism) to create images of the fantastical from everyday mundane situations. The first half of the book paints a vividly stylistic picture of the city’s once famous arcades - specifically Le Passage de l’Opera - just prior to their demolition by the Haussmanian civic planners.

Aragon's adventures within the arcade alternate between strange hallucinatory visions, which often drift into detailed minutia about the places of commerce and their patrons, through to scathing indictments of the city’s civic planners, bankers and political elite.

The following extract is a description of one of the shops in Le Passage de l’Opera:-

I finally walked out into the passage. By that time the lights had already been switched off. My attention was suddenly attracted by a sort of humming noise which seemed to be coming from the direction of the cane shop, and I was astonished to see that it’s window was bathed in a greenish, almost submarine light, the source of which remained invisible. It was the same kind of phosphorescence that, I remember, emanated from the fish I watched, as a child, from the jetty of Port Bail on the Contentin peninsula; but still, I had to admit to myself that even though the canes might conceivably possess the illuminating properties of creatures of the deep, a physical explanation would still scarcely account for this supernatural gleam and, above all, the noise whose low throbbing echoed back from the arched roof. I recognized the sound: it was the same voice of the seashells that has never ceased to amaze poets and film-stars. The whole ocean in the Passage de l’Opera. The canes floated gently like seaweed. I had still not recovered from my enchantment when I noticed that a human form was swimming among the various levels of the window display. Although not quite as tall as an average woman, she did not in the least give the impression of being a dwarf. Her smallness seemed, rather, to derive from distance, and yet the apparition was moving about just behind the windowpane. Her hair floated behind her, her fingers occasionally clutched at one of the canes. At first I thought I must be face to face with a siren in the most conventional sense of the term, for I certainly had the impression that the lower half of this charming spectre, who was naked down to a very low waistline, consisted of a sheath of steel or scales or possibly rose petals. But by dint of concentrating my attention on her gliding act among the weals of atmosphere, I suddenly recognised this person, despite her emaciated features and distraught appearance. It was under the dubious circumstances of the  insolent occupation of the Rhineland, and of an intoxicated delight in prostitution, that I had first met Lisel, by the banks of the river Saar. She had refused to join the rest of  her people in their flight from defeat, and all night long, as she paraded the Sofienstrasse, she sang songs she had learned from her father, a Rhine hunting captain. What on earth could she be doing here, among the canes?   

Although the book was written as a farewell letter by Aragon to his surrealist companions and so is rooted in the period and culture, it has in recent years enjoyed a renaissance and become recognised as an early blueprint for the movement  known as psychogeography (‘the study of the specific effects of the geographical environment on the emotions and behaviour of individuals’) and as such has gained a cult following.