ADERS

About fifteen years ago, during the Brătianu Cabinet, I was editing 'The National Revolt'. It was an essentially combative paper, in strong opposition to the government. Our strength however lay not so much in the leading articles or in the polemic pieces as in

excerpt 'A friend, newspaper reporter' tries to mystify the author by dropping the 'bombshell' about the arrest of some very dangerous anarchists, with bags full of dynamite, poison, daggers, pistols, and compromising letters. The man inquires around

Very few people today will remember a famous newspaper that used to appear at some point in the capital, during the war of independence. I mean here 'The Romanian Nation' that Frédéric Damé and I published together. The life of that paper was as short as it

Caragiale cannot be celebrated officially and patriotically because his writings, his profile as an author, the entire symbolism around his name and works retain an active subversive dimension altogether incompatible with the intrinsic solemnity of a ceremony. One has to

Women artists (originally women-painters) became a reality in Romanian culture only by the turn of the 20th century. Barely having an artistic tradition of the western kind (that is, academic), the national cultural milieu in the 19th century was rather deprived of a professionally

Like diaries and memoirs, portraits and especially self-portraits represent a favorite means of inserting the creator's self into history. One may eventually infer, if not directly grasp a writer's or a painter's positions and opinions about his milieu and

excerpts The Diary and Its Readers We should not overdo it with diaries and letters. We usually tend to deem them more revealing of the man than his public work. All that is secretive, familiar draws us as if it were a confession. It is the pleasure of breaking an interdiction,

Preface In April 1990, I handed over the volume The Silent Escape to the Secretariat of the French publishing house La Découverte in Paris. On September the 1st, the same year, the book was in the bookshops. It's my first book and I don't consider it literature.

*  Sunday, March 31, 1940Rotten weather. I stay indoors and work, bringing my Diary to date. The French and the British hold frequent, definitely long conferences – now in Paris, now in London – attended by militaries and politicians. This incessant activity evinces

Paris, February 7th, 1939The phone wakes me up: it's George, who calls me from Algiers. He keeps waiting for his plane to be repaired. The thought that he left on an old jade – as he says – worries me. I remember my mother-in-law's words and I agree with her:

I know you don't like to talk about yourself and your successes. You were telling me some time ago about a certain maturation of verbal expression that, with dancers, develops in time in parallel with motile expression.  I noticed that we, dancers, do a lot of things

1921. End of the year. The Romanian State Opera House was established in Bucharest. 1938. The month of August. The young institution was holding, through its representatives, master Floria Capsali to its bosom, who was employed on that occasion to nurture the destiny of