On other evenings, I undressed and went to bed, and, with Albertine perched on the side of the bed, we would resume our game or our conversation interrupted by kisses; and in the physical desire that alone makes us take an interest in the existence and character of another person, we remain so true to our own nature (even if, on the other hand, we abandon successively the different persons whom we have loved in turn) that on one occasion, catching sight of myself in the mirror at the moment when I was kissing Albertine and calling her "my little girl," the sorrowful, passionate expression on my own face, similar to the expression it would have worn long ago with Gilberte whom I no longer remembered, and would perhaps assume one day with another if I were ever to forget Albertine, made me think that, over and above any personal considerations (instinct requiring that we consider the person of the moment as the only real one), I was performing the duties of an ardent and painful devotion dedicated as an oblation to the young and beauty of Woman. And yet with this desire by which I was honouring youth with a votive offering, with my memories too of Balbec, there was blended, in my need to keep Albertine thus every evening by my side, something that had hitherto been foreign to my amorous existence at least if it was not entirely new in my life. It was a soothing power the like of which I had not experienced since the evening at Combray long ago when my mother, stooping over my bed, brought me repose in a kiss. To be sure, I should have been greatly astonished at that time had anyone told me that I was not extremely kind and especially that I would have known myself very imperfectly then, for my pleasure in having Albertine to live with me was much less a positive pleasure than the pleasure of having withdrawn from the world, where everyone was free to enjoy her in turn, the blossoming girl who, if she did not bring me any great joy, was at least withholding joy from others. Ambition and fame would have left me unmoved. Even more was I incapable of feeling hatred. And yet to love carnally was none the less, for me, to enjoy a triumph over countless rivals. I can never repeat it often enough: it was more than anything else an appeasement.
Marcel Proust, The Captive. pp. 70-71
OK, first off the unpleasantries, even though I will throw in the usual codicles that this was written a century ago and that Proust deserves credit for being honest: "To be sure, I should have been greatly astonished at that time had anyone told me that I was not extremely kind and especially that I would have known myself very imperfectly then, for my pleasure in having Albertine to live with me was much less a positive pleasure than the pleasure of having withdrawn from the world, where everyone was free to enjoy her in turn, the blossoming girl who, if she did not bring me any great joy, was at least withholding joy from others. Ambition and fame would have left me unmoved. Even more was I incapable of feeling hatred. And yet to love carnally was none the less, for me, to enjoy a triumph over countless rivals. I can never repeat it often enough: it was more than anything else an appeasement." We are drawing to the end of a lengthy section where Proust reflects upon his nightly routine with Albertine. Once again he discusses his rationale for keeping Albertine "captive." It's so clearly less about his mad love for her, but rather his need to control her. It's enough that he denies her - and that he has the power to deny her - than it is a celebration of what they give each other. Despite my earlier comments about the need to keep in mind that this was written a hundred years ago, I think it's also distressingly necessary to point out that maybe things haven't changed that much in the years since Proust penned these words. Is the GOP so insistent on limiting what a woman can do with her own body because they really care about unborn and unformed children, or because through this act they can control women, and it's a self-generating and self-justifying sickness as much as Proust's? Aren't all women "captive" every bit as much as Albertine? What's most distressing is the way that women, again and Albertine is a fitting example, often play a role in their own suppression. Is it the Stockholm syndrome or the recognition of a woman's limited social universe, and the desire to operate as best they can within that universe?
So, what is Proust trying to control? Is it simply Albertine, or, more generally, women? I think I would argue that he's trying to control the past. Once again, he brings us back the image that he began the novel with - him sitting in his room hoping against hope that his mother would steal time away from the endless dinner parties to kiss him goodnight. Proust writes, " It was a soothing power the like of which I had not experienced since the evening at Combray long ago when my mother, stooping over my bed, brought me repose in a kiss." He could never impose his control over his mother and thus his own happiness and contentment, but he can control Albertine. And, as we've discussed, this was written in the high point of Freud's influence.
As part of his persistent striving to regain the past, or as he is wont to say, Time, I think I would propose that he's trying to regain beauty. Proust reflects, " . . I was performing the duties of an ardent and painful devotion dedicated as an oblation to the young and beauty of Woman. And yet with this desire by which I was honouring youth with a votive offering, with my memories too of Balbec, there was blended, in my need to keep Albertine thus every evening by my side . . " Albertine is the manifestation of beauty and youth, and by controlling her he controls beauty and youth, and thus conquers his own dwindling energy and looming mortality.
No comments:
Post a Comment