My Years With Proust - Day 389

   Since that day, M. Nissim Bernard had never failed to come and occupy his seat the lunch-table (as a man might occupy his seat in the stalls who was keeping a dancer, a dancer in this case of a distinct and special type which still awaits its Degas).  It was M. Nissim Bernard's delight to follow round the restaurant, as far as the remote vistas where beneath her palm the cashier sat enthroned, the gyrations of the adolescent in zealous attendance - attendance on everyone, and less on M. Nissim Bernard now that the latter was keeping him, whether because the young altar-boy did not think it necessary to display the same civility to a person by whom he supposed himself to be sufficiently well loved, or because that love annoyed him or he feared lest, if discovered, it might make him lose other opportunities. But this very coldness pleased M. Nissim Bernard, because of all that it concealed; whether from Hebraic atavism or in profanation in the Racian ceremony, were it Jewish or Catholic.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 872-873

My ex-wife's theory of relationships was based on one simple formula: the worse you treat them the better they love you.  This line came to mind when reading Proust's description of M. Nissim Bernard and his young kept waiter, who would wait on everyone with "zealous attendance," with the exception of M. Nissim Bernard now that he was keeping him, "whether because the young altar-boy did not think it necessary to display the same civility to a person by whom he supposed him to be sufficiently well loved, or because that love annoyed him or he feared less, if discovered, it might make him lose other opportunities."  And, of course, this made M. Nissim Bernard love him all the more.  With the exception of her ability to choose a good man, my ex-wife is a very brilliant woman.

I always forget how much I love Degas, and somehow when I'm discussing 19th century art with my students he gets overlooked.

The Prima Ballerina by Degas.  Somehow the figure in black in the black speaks to me of the older rich man looking for a dancer to "keep", as Proust described in the passage above.

The Tub by Degas, which somehow seems the somewhat inevitable conclusion of the previous scenario.