"What are you doing here?" he said to him. "And you?" he added, looking at me, "I told you, whatever you did, not to bring him back with you."
"He didn't want to bring me," said Morel, turning upon M. de Charlus, in the artlessness of his coquetry, a conventionally mournful and languorously old-fashioned gaze which he doubtless thought irresistible, and looking as though he wanted to kiss the Baron and to burst into tears. "It was I who insisted on coming in spite of him. I come, in the name of our friendship, to implore you on my bended knees not to commit this rash act."
M. de Charlus was wild with joy. The reaction was almost too much for his nerves; he managed, however, to control them.
"The friendship which you somewhat inopportunely invoke," he replied curtly, "ought, on the contrary, to make you give me your approval when I decide that I cannot allow the impertinences of a fool to pass unheeded. Besides, even if I chose to yield to the entreaties of an affection which I have known better inspired, I should no longer be in a position to do so, since my letters to my seconds have been dispatched and I have no doubt of their acceptance. You have always behaved towards me like a young idiot and, instead of priding yourself, as you had every right to do, upon the predilection which I had known for you, instead of making known to the rabble of sergeants or servants among whom the law of military service compels you to live, what a source of incomparable pride friendship such as mine was to you, you have sought to apologise for it, almost to make an idiotic merit of not being grateful enough. I know that in so doing," he went on, in order not to let it appear how deeply certain scenes had humiliated him, "you are guilty of having let yourself be carried away by the jealousy of others. But how is it that at your age you are childish enough (and ill-bred enough) not to have seen at once that your election by myself and all the advantages that must accrue from it were bound to excited jealousies, that all your comrades, while inciting you to quarrel with me, plotting to take your place? I did not thin it advisable to warn you of the letters I have received in that connexion from all those in whom you place most trust. I scorn the overtures of those flunkeys as I scorn their ineffectual mockery. The only person for whom I care is yourself, since I am fond of you, but affection has its limits and you ought to have guessed as much."
Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1103-1104
Morel has shown up and is trying to beg M. de Charlus to call off the duel. It's a pretty amazing performance, made all the more farcical by the Baron critiquing someone else for being jealous and childish. To make this work the Baron also has to criticize Marcel ("I told you, whatever you did, not to bring him back with you.") for doing exactly what he begged him to do.
However, M. de Charlus also pretty dramatically overplays his hand, as his desire to get Morel to come to him also provides him an opportunity to lecture his young lover on his ingratitude. In the end his own vanity is never far away. Proust reports, "The friendship which you somewhat inopportunely invoke," he replied curtly, "ought, on the contrary, to make you give me your approval when I decide that I cannot allow the impertinences of a fool to pass unheeded." He even goes so far as to point out that there were other soldiers in Morel's own regiment who wrote to the Baron begging to take the young man's place, even though, the older man affirms, "I scorn the overtures of those flunkeys as I scorn their ineffectual mockery." Still, one can't help wondering if this clumsily staged performance, due to its public nature, will not have disastrous consequences down the road.
If nothing else, I hope the Baron and Morel had great make-up sex.
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