My Years With Proust - Day 454

   "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.



   

My Years With Proust - Day 453

Being in a mood not to be deprived of Morel's company that evening, he had pretended to have been informed that two officers of the regiment had spoken ill of him on connexion with the violinist and that he was going to send his seconds to call upon them.  Morel had foreseen the scandal - his life in the regiment made impossible - and had come at once.  In doing which he had not been altogether wrong.  For to make this lie more plausible, M. de Charlus had already written to two friends (one was Cottard) asking them to be his seconds.  And if the violinist had not appeared, we may be certain that, mad as he was (and in order to change his sorrow into rage), M. de Charlus would have sent them with a challenge to some officer or some other with whom it would have been relief to him to fight.  In the meantime M. de Charlus, remembering that he came of a race that was of purer blood than the House of France, told himself that it was really very good of him to make such a fuss about the son of a butler whose employer he would not have condescend to know.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, p. 1102

The Baron's charade grows both more absurd but also more serious.  Not to drag Presidential politics into this, but, as always, it's the mad cover-up for an earlier indiscretion, which might have been serious, but might also have just been spontaneously foolish (and thus utterly human).  In this case the need of M. de Charlus to control Morel is making this silly incident spin out of control and he's now dragging other into the vortex. And, if Proust is to believed, it is possible that the Baron have actually undertaken this mock duel, both to win back his beloved but also because of his own honor: "And if the violinist had not appeared, we may be certain that, mad as he was (and in order to change his sorrow into rage), M. de Charlus would have sent them with a challenge to some officer or some other with whom it would have been relief to him to fight." I'm thinking about Sei Shonagon's The Pillow Book and her section on "Things That Have Lost Their Power" (which I think we've discussed before).  In addition to items like a boat that has been beached by the receding tide she also includes lovers who have stormed off, but then forced to come home with their tails between their legs because their lovers has called their bluff.  Both M. de Charlus and Morel are in the danger of being that disgraced lover in this farce.

My Years With Proust - Day 452

   "Wouldn't it be better to open it? I suspect it's something serious."

   "Not on your life.  You've no idea what lies, what internal tricks that old scoundrel gets up to.  It's a dodge to make me go and see him.  Well, I'm not going.  I want to spend the evening in peace."

   "But isn't there going to be a duel to-morrow?" I asked him, having assumed that he was in the know.

   "A duel?" he repeated with an air of stupefaction, "I never heard a word about it.  Anyhow, I don't give a damn - the dirty old beast can go and get plugged in the guts if he likes.  But wait a minute, this is interesting.  I'd better look at his letter after all.  You can tell him you left it here for me, in case I should come in."

   While Morel was speaking, I looked with amazement at the beautiful books which M. de Charlus had given him and which littered his room.  The violinist having refused to accept those labelled: "I belong to the Baron" etc., a device which he felt to be insulting to himself, as a mark of vassalage, the Baron, with the sentimental ingenuity in which his ill-starred love abounded, had substituted others, borrowed from his ancestors, but ordered from the binder according to the circumstances of a melancholy friendship. . . .

   . . . If M. de Charlus, in dashing this letter down upon paper, had seemed to be carried away by the daemon that was inspiring his flying pen, as soon as Morel had broken the seal (a leopard between two roses gules, with the motto: Atavis et armis) he began to read the letter as feverishly as M. de Charlus had written it, and over those pages covered at breakneck speed his eye ran no less swiftly than the Baron's pen.  "Good God!" he exclaimed, "this is the last straw!  But where am I to find him? Heaven only knows where he is now."

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1100-1101

Marcel delivers the hastily - well, it was eight pages, so I guess not that hastily - written note from M. de Charlus to Morel.  While the plot - that is, the Baron being involved in a duel - seems painfully foolish and patently unbelievable, it appears to have achieved its purpose as Morel, after initially feigning indifference, is immediately drawn into the adventure. Morel, in the face of the absurd news of the Baron's impending duel, nevertheless exclaims, "Good God!" he exclaimed, "this is the last straw!  But where am I to find him? Heaven only knows where he is now."  Keep in mind that this is about two minutes after he informed Marcel, "You've no idea what lies, what internal tricks that old scoundrel gets up to.  It's a dodge to make me go and see him." Every relationship has its own internal logic, and sometimes that internal logic is decidedly illogical.  One would suppose that the partnership of M. de Charlus and Morel was defined by and fueled by high drama.

My Years With Proust - Day 451

   When he had written eight pages: "May I ask you to do me a great service?" he said to me. "You will excuse my sailing this note.  But I must.  You will take a carriage, a motor-car if you can find one, to get there as quickly as possible.  You are certain to find Morel in his quarters, where he has gone to change.  Poor boy, he tried to bluster a little when we parted, but you may be sure that his heart is heavier than mine.  You will give him this note, and, if he asks you where you saw me, you will tell him that you stopped at Doncieres (which, for that matter, is the truth) to see Robert, which is not quite the truth perhaps, but that you met me with a person whom you did not know, that I seemed to be extremely angry, that you thought you heard something about sending seconds (I am in fact fighting a duel tom-morrow).  Whatever you do, don't say that I'm asking for him, don't make any effort to bring him here, but if he wishes to come with you, don't prevent him from doing so.  Go, my boy, it is for his own good, you may the means of averting a great tragedy.  While you are away, I shall write to my seconds."

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, p. 1099

Here we have one of the most absurd, and amusing, passages in Remembrance of Things Past, and one that proves, if, indeed, we needed more proof (to quote the excellent Sanford Zale), that when we are in love we are little more than idiots.  M. de Charlus and Morel have a lover's spat and the younger man leaves in a huff.  The Baron then, in a scheme worthy of an old I Love Lucy episode, pretends to be involved in an upcoming duel to get him back. I now have a plan in place for my next fight with my girlfriend.

Now, on the one hand it is pretty funny, and we'll spend the next few days revealing the almost slapstick nature of the plan, but on the other hand I have a feeling that it is going to play a role a much darker role in the Baron's future because it is bringing him more and more into the limelight (now, truthfully, I haven't read that far ahead in my note-taking reading, but I just have a feeling that this will have great ramifications).

My Years With Proust - Day 450

And yet, painful as these scenes came to be, it must be acknowledged that in the early days the genius of the Frenchman of the people instinctively invested Morel with charming forms of simplicity, of apparent candour, even of an independent pride which seemed to be inspired by disinterestedness.  This was not the case, but the advantage of this attitude was all the more of Morel's side in that, whereas the person who is in love is continually forced to return to the charge, to go one better, it is on the other hand easy for the person who is not in love to proceed along a straight line, inflexible and dignified.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1095-1096

A brief, but insightful, commentary on Morel's charms from Proust.  One of the young violinist's chief charms is his "disinterestedness."  Naturally, I'm flashing back to the scene from Swingers where they discuss the essential three day waiting period after you've acquired the digits (or six days if you're truly money).  Proust writes, "This was not the case, but the advantage of this attitude was all the more of Morel's side in that, whereas the person who is in love is continually forced to return to the charge, to go one better, it is on the other hand easy for the person who is not in love to proceed along a straight line, inflexible and dignified."  This brings up the eternal question, which we've discussed before, of whether it is harder to be the lover or the beloved.  In the past I've tended to come down on the side of the beloved, but that may just be the contrarian in me.  I'm suddenly thinking of the Indigo Girls, who responded to the question of whether the glass is half-full or half-empty by pointing out that it doesn't matter because eventually you're going to spill it.  So, I guess the answer is it doesn't matter whether you're the lover or the beloved, you're doomed either way.

Off Again

I'm rushing around like a lunatic getting ready to head back to Zanzibar with the esteemed Steve Wehmeyer as we do extra prep for next year's innovative year-long linked course featuring a two week trip to Zanzibar.  We've discovered a number of new folks and opportunities and adventures, so this should be a great trip and make the upcoming student trip even more amazing.  Of course, this didn't keep me from swinging by the blog to say bye to folks who pop by on a regular basis.  Doubtless I'll post more pictures and stories soon, and in the meantime, thanks to the magical gnomes behind the scenes, there will be a new Proust commentary every day. In the meantime, off to Montreal then Zurich then Nairobi then Dar Es Salaam, and then finally a ferry out to Zanzibar.  See you soon.

My excellent friend Kathy Seiler sent this picture along: a flying fox next to a regular size bat.  I think she's angling for the next Zanzibar trip.  Come on, Dave Kelley, you know you want to go to Zanzibar!!

My Years With Proust - Day 449

   The melancholy air which M. de Charlus had assumed in speaking of the Princesse de Cadignan left me in no doubt that the tale in question had not reminded him only of the little garden of a cousin to whom he was not particularly attached.  He became lost in thought, and as though he were talking to himself: "The Secrets of the Princesse de Cadignan!" he exclaimed, "what a masterpiece! How profound, how heartrending the evil reputation of Diane, who is afraid that the man she loves may hear of it.  What an eternal truth, and more universal than it might appear! How far-reaching it is!" He uttered these words with a sadness in which one nevertheless felt that he found a certain charm. Certainly M. de Charlus, unaware to what extent precisely his proclivities were or were not known, had been trembling for some time past at the thought that when he returned to Paris and was seen there in Morel's company, the latter's family might intervene and so his future happiness be jeopardised.  This eventuality had probably not appeared to him hitherto save as something profoundly disagreeable and painful. But the Baron was an artist to his finger-tips.  And now that he had suddenly begun to identify his own situation with that described by Balzac, he took refuge, as it were, in the story, and for the calamity which was perhaps in store for him and which he certainly feared, he had the consolation of finding in his own anxiety what Swann and also Saint-Loup would have called something "very Balzacian." This identification of himself with the Princesse de Cardignan had been made easier for M. de Charlus by virtue of the mental transposition which was becoming habitual with him and of which he had already given several examples.  It sufficed, moreover, to make the mere conversion of a woman, as the beloved object, into a young man immediately set in motion around him the whole sequence of social complications which develop round a normal love affair.

Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, pp. 1092-1093

Proust is certainly building the suspense in regards to the eventual fate of M. de Charlus.  We are told, "Certainly M. de Charlus, unaware to what extent precisely his proclivities were or were not known, had been trembling for some time past at the thought that when he returned to Paris and was seen there in Morel's company, the latter's family might intervene and so his future happiness be jeopardised."  As we'll see soon the Baron gets precipitates a very foolish adventure will calls more attention to his "proclivities" (now I'm as guilty as Proust for dropping hints).

One of the subjects that we discuss in Heroines & Heroes is whether it is either for a man to write a female character or a woman to write a male character.  This comes up in our discussion of Feminist literary criticism and most students, fueled by Simone de Beauvoir's notion of man as "the One" and woman as "the Other" would propose that it's easier for a women to write a male character simply because he is the "default" setting (keeping in mind that de Beauvoir is not saying it should be this way, obviously, but that sadly it is).  As much as I love Dickens his female characters, most notably Ester Summerson in Bleak House (arguably his best novel), are pretty one-dimensional. [As a side note, I'll usually then ask if it is still true today, and the men uniformly say no and the women almost uniformly say yes.] Proust tells us that, in his melancholy, M. de Charlus identifies with the Princesse de Cadignan. The Baron exclaims, "The Secrets of the Princesse de Cadignan!" he exclaimed, "what a masterpiece! How profound, how heartrending the evil reputation of Diane, who is afraid that the man she loves may hear of it.  What an eternal truth, and more universal than it might appear! How far-reaching it is!" This leads Proust to observe: "This identification of himself with the Princesse de Cardignan had been made easier for M. de Charlus by virtue of the mental transposition which was becoming habitual with him and of which he had already given several examples.  It sufficed, moreover, to make the mere conversion of a woman, as the beloved object, into a young man immediately set in motion around him the whole sequence of social complications which develop round a normal love affair."   This also made me think of the issue of identifying with characters from literature or cinema who are the opposite sex (and, yes, I know that phrasing the question that way speaks to the face that I grew up in an age that was not as sophisticated in its understanding of gender fluidity).  So, I've set myself the challenge of coming up with that list.  Stupid Proust - he wears me out with all of his assignments . . .