Sunday, May 7, 2017

My Years With Proust - Day 438

I could have dispensed with seeing her every day; I was happy when I left her, and I knew that the calming effect of that happiness might last for several days.  But at that moment I would hear Albertine as she left me say to her aunt or to a girlfriend: "To-morrow at eight-thirty, then.  We mustn't be late, the other will be ready at a quarter past." The conversation of a woman one loves is like the ground above a dangerous subterranean stretch of water; one senses constantly beneath the words the presence, the penetrating chill of an invisible pool; one perceives here and there its treacherous percolation, but the water itself remains hidden.  The moment I heard these words of Albertine's my calm was destroyed.  I wanted to ask her to let me see her the following morning, so as to prevent her from going to this mysterious rendezvous at half past eight which had been mentioned in my presence only in veiled terms.  She would no doubt have begun by obeying me, while regretting that she had to give up her plans; in time she would have discovered my permanent need to upset them; I should have become the person from whom one hides things.
Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1050-1051

I know this is a "duh" statement, but more and more I just don't think that Marcel is in love with Albertine - or maybe any other woman for that matter.  Rather, he seems to fall into that category of person who is mainly concerned with insuring that the person they're with is not with someone else.  Sadly, I would guess that we'll all been with someone who wouldn't fuck us on a bet, but would fly into an indignant jealous rage at the thought that someone else might be attracted to us.  Proust writes, "I could have dispensed with seeing her every day; I was happy when I left her," but as soon as she Albertine said anything that sparked his insecurity he would try and destroy her plans, even if it wasn't to insure that they could spend time together.  Obviously, this is such a losing proposition, as Proust clearly knows: "She would no doubt have begun by obeying me, while regretting that she had to give up her plans; in time she would have discovered my permanent need to upset them; I should have become the person from whom one hides things."  Being insanely jealous that your lover might be tempted to have an affair with someone else is such a self-fulfilling prophecy because if you're going to be accused of it every time you leave the house there's really no reason not do go ahead and do it (other than personal morality, which, of course, we're all desperately short of anyway).  Through cultural osmosis I think we all know that it doesn't end well with Albertine (again, how do I know these things, but I do) but one wonders why Marcel would have ever insisted upon creating a world wherein it could end badly.

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