Nasty

The author of the brilliant Ouvert la nuit series seems to be in a state of conflict with some Bucharest dwellers. Out of incontestable affection for our Capital, he tried to picture it as a city portrait for the Western world, and he managed to make enemies out of the very

Arhip had written thus: Educationally, the novel does not amount to very much. As simple as that. Even too simple, an aesthetically-minded critics might have objected. The typist, thinking of dinner, of guests and the fact that she hadn't managed to rustle up everything

In our parts, at Jassy, autumn starts late in May and lasts until Christmas. There is no summer in Jassy. If from time to time, winter did not come we could say we have only autumn over here. Nice weather begins with foul smells, green flies and heat. Then it turns nasty.

January 5, 1940 On Monday I must get down to work seriously and consistently. Apart from this, my life has become unbearable. I don't know what the devil is the matter with me, I feel as if I were growing old and stupid. I suppose I have some obsessions of my own,

excerpts Unfortunately, in this country we talk, but do not communicate, in the sense of a science of communication. This is particularly obvious in the public area, where people do not express thanks, do not salute, and address each other on familiar terms without justification.

Foreword The few words that I put as motto at the beginning of this book can be translated like this: God must have had a hidden plan for this people that the western states rediscovered on the banks of the Danube and adopted like Pharaoh's daughter adopted Moses.

Toward the end of the Middle Ages, the Romanians, until then living in their traditional peasant autonomies, which stand for an entire, complete political order with archaic roots, arrived, after the abolition of anarchy, at their boundaries and, on one side, because of

The parallel journals of two travelers, separated by more than three centuries, who crossed Asia from the west to the east, following the same route to the capital of China, offers us a human measure of the passage of time. Double photographs of the same places, even the

Would you please not rank me among collectors, although I pretend I am a connaisseur, in the meaning of the French word, academician Victor Eftimiu told me on one occasion in 1965, seated on a bergère, clad in a night gown, rather worn down but adorned with fine embroidery,

It was in May 1972, when I paid my first visit to the Weinbergs. I still have a warm dedication from the host as testimony. I was coming from the Museums Review to record a few thoughts about the Weinberg collection, the foundations of which had been laid in the tumultuous

22 Spătarului Street, Bucharest (see also in Romanian with illustration)  The siblings Béatrice and Hrandt Avakian set up their collections independently, nevertheless evincing a shared predilection towards Eastern art, to be accounted for among others, perhaps, by the

(see also in Romanian with illustration) Garabet (Garbis) Avachian (1907-1967) was an eminent violin professor with the Ciprian Porumbescu Conservatoire in Bucharest; among his students may be counted several laureates of international contests. This talented musician undoubtedly