[One Thousand Characters a Day] Proust's 'In the Forest'

Editor's NoteAsia Economy provides daily 1,000-character transcription content for the 'Harumanbo Harucheonja' newsletter readers. The transcription content is carefully selected according to themes by day and month from Eastern and Western classics, Korean literature, famous columns, and notable speeches. Today, we introduce a part of "In the Forest" from , a collection of early prose poems by the great French writer Marcel Proust. The text contains 965 characters.

There is nothing to fear but much to learn from the vigorous and gentle tree species that tirelessly produce beneficial balm for the body and calming essence for the mind on our behalf. It is about spending fresh, quiet, and secluded times harmoniously with such trees. On a hot afternoon when the sunlight is too intense and makes you look away, let us enter the unique "soil" of Normandy. Here, tall, majestic beeches grow flexibly, their leaves forming thin yet sturdy embankments that block the sea of light, capturing only a few drops of light that ring like music in the dark silence of the forest. Our spirit, like at the seaside, does not gain the joy that spreads across the mountains and fields but tastes the happiness of being separated from the world. Surrounded on all sides by deeply rooted trunks, our spirit soars high like the trees.

Lying on our backs and tilting our heads into the dry leaves, in the midst of deep rest, we can follow the agile joy of the spirit ascending to the very top branches without disturbing a single leaf. Our spirit sits beside a bird singing on a high branch at the soft edge of the sky. Here and there, slight sunlight lingers at the tree bases, and occasionally the trees seem to dreamily wet or dye the terminal leaves of their branches golden. Everything else remains relaxed and motionless, silent in the happiness of darkness. The towering trees resting quietly within the vast offering of branches lead us to empathize with the life of trees through this natural yet strange posture with elegant whispers. This life is so ancient yet still young, entirely different from our own, seeming to be an unknown, infinite storehouse of human life.

When a light breeze momentarily breaks their shimmering but dark immobility, the trees slightly tremble, balancing the sunlight at their tops and rearranging shadows at their bases.

- Marcel Proust, , translated by Lee Geonsu, Minumsa, 13,000 KRW