The fear that Albertine was perhaps going to say to me: "I want to be allowed to go out by myself at certain hours, I want to be able to stay away for twenty-four hours," or some such request for freedom which I did not attempt to define, but which alarmed me, this fear had crossed my mind for a moment during the Verdurin reception. But it had been dispelled, contradicted moreover by the memory of Albertine's constant assurances of how happy she was with me. The intention to leave me, if it existed in Albertine, manifested itself only in an obscure fashion, in certain mournful glances, certain gestures of impatience, remarks which meant nothing of the sort but which, if one analyzed them (and there was not even any need for analysis, for one understands at once this language of passion, even the most uneducated understand these remarks which can be explained only by vanity, rancour, jealousy, unexpressed as it happens, but detectable at once by the interlocutor through an intuitive faculty which, like the "good sense" of which Descartes speaks, is "the most evenly distributed thing in the world"), could only be explained by the presence in her of a sentiment which she concealed and which might lead her to form plans for another life without me. Just as this intention did not express itself in her speech in a logical fashion, so the presentiment of this intention, which I had felt to-night, remained just as vague in me. I continued to live by the hypothesis which accepted as true everything that Albertine told me. But it may be that during this time a wholly contrary hypothesis, of which I refused to think, never left me; this is all the more probably since otherwise I should not have felt uncomfortable about telling Albertine that I had been to the Verdurins', and my lack of astonishment at her anger would not have been comprehensible. So that what probably existed in me was an idea of Albertine entirely contrary to that which my reason formed of her, and also to that which her own words suggested, an Albertine who was none the less not wholly invented, since she was like a prophetic mirror of certain impulses that occurred in her, such as her ill-humour at my having gone to the Verdurins'. Besides, for a long time past, my constant anxieties, my fear of telling Albertine that I loved her, all this corresponded to another hypothesis which explained far more things and has also this to be said for it, that if one adopted the first hypothesis the first second became more probable, for by allow myself to give way to effusions of tenderness for Albertine, I obtained from her nothing but irritation (to which moreover she assigned a different cause).
Marcel Proust, The Captive, pp. 352-353
As we discussed yesterday Marcel and Albertine, although mainly Marcel, had decided to break off their relationship, but you know that it was not going to be that easy (despite one famous example from Seinfeld, they never are). They are still stumbling along, but actually things are even worse because Marcel has grown more possessive: "The fear that Albertine was perhaps going to say to me: 'I want to be allowed to go out by myself at certain hours, I want to be able to stay away for twenty-four hours,' or some such request for freedom which I did not attempt to define . ." The Captive is truly earning its title. As I look back at my notes in the margin from my initial reading it's clear, not surprisingly, that I found Marcel less and less likable, and wondered if he would find a way to redeem himself. However, to be fair, love and jealousy seldom makes us lovable. Still, Marcel, while causing Albertine a lot of unhappiness (not that she doesn't return the favor), does seem to be learning some things about himself, although what he's learning seems awfully elemental (although maybe not by the standards of a century ago, sadly). Proust notes: "So that what probably existed in me was an idea of Albertine entirely contrary to that which my reason formed of her, and also to that which her own words suggested, an Albertine who was none the less not wholly invented, since she was like a prophetic mirror of certain impulses that occurred in her, such as her ill-humour at my having gone to the Verdurins'" In some ways what I think Marcel has noticed is that Albertine is actually a person in and of herself, and "not wholly invented." In a more patriarchal age that may be less of a "duh" moment as it seems, although, sadly, it's something that many people don't actually even realize today.
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