The incident that concerns Morel was of a more highly specialised order. There were others, but I confine myself at present, as the little train halts and the porter calls out "Doncieres," "Grattevast," "Maineville" etc., to noting down the particular memory that the water-place of garrison town recalls to me. I have already mentioned Maineville (media villa) and the importance that it had acquired from that luxurious house of prostitution which had recently been built there, not without arousing futile protests from the local mothers. . .
In any case Morel, whatever objection might be made, reserved certain evening hours, whether for algebra or for the violin. On one occasion it was for neither, but for the Prince de Guermantes who, having come down for a few days to that part of the coast to pay the Princesse de Luxembourg a visit, met the musician without knowing who he was or being known to him either, and offered him fifty francs to spend the night with him in the brothel at Maineville; a twofold pleasure for Morel, in the remuneration received from M. de Guermantes and in the delight of being surrounded by women who would flaunt their tawny breasts uncovered. In some way or other M. de Charlus got wind of what had occurred and of the place appointed, but did not discover the name of the seducer. Mad with jealousy, and in the hope of identifying the latter, he telegraphed to Jupien, who arrived two days later, and when, early the following week, Morel announced that he would again be absent, he Baron asked Jupien if he would undertake to bribe the woman who the establishment to hide them in some place where they could witness what occurred. "That's all right, I'll see to it, dearer," Jupien assured the Baron. It is hard to imagine the extent to which this anxiety agitated the Baron's mind, and by the very fact of doing so had momentarily enriched it. Love can thus be responsible for veritable geological upheavals of the mind. In that of M. de Charlus, which a few days earlier had resembled a plain so uniform that as far as the eye could reach it would have been impossible to make out an idea rising above the level surface, there had suddenly sprung into being, hard as stone, a range of mountains, but mountains as elaborately carved as if some sculptor, instead of quarrying and carting away the marble, had chiselled it on the spot, in which there writhed in vast titanic groups Fury, Jealousy, Curiosity, Envy, Hatred, Suffering, Pride, Terror and Love.
Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1112-1114
I'm beginning to think that Proust should have entitled this work Remembrance of Jealousy Past, as we have another example of one of the characters being driven to mad distraction by jealousy. In this case it is once again M. de Charlus. Proust makes uses of an extended geological metaphor to explain the calamity. We are told, In that of M. de Charlus, which a few days earlier had resembled a plain so uniform that as far as the eye could reach it would have been impossible to make out an idea rising above the level surface . . ." But then we are told that he hears a rumor and "there had suddenly sprung into being, hard as stone, a range of mountains, but mountains as elaborately carved as if some sculptor, instead of quarrying and carting away the marble, had chiselled it on the spot, in which there writhed in vast titanic groups Fury, Jealousy, Curiosity, Envy, Hatred, Suffering, Pride, Terror and Love." Now, to be fair, is is a pretty spectacular rumor. The Baron hears that Morel is planning to meet an unnamed lover at the brothel at Maineville. In this case the rumor had substance because Morel had run into the Prince de Guermantes who had offered him fifty francs to spend the night with him. Not surprisingly, M. de Charlus flies into a rage. What I find surprising is that the Baron wires his older lover Jupien and asks for help, and not only does Jupien reply in the affirmative but volunteers to bribe the mistress of the brothel to allow them to spy. Knowing how self-centered the Baron is I guess I'm not that shocked that he had the temerity to contact Jupien. Rather, I'm somewhat surprised that Jupien didn't tell him to get stuffed, unless, of course, he thinks that this discovery will drive the Baron back into his arms.
As Proust reminds us, "Love can thus be responsible for veritable geological upheavals of the mind."
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