‘As a matter of fact, M. de Norpois went on, talking to my father, Vaugoubert has made a great success of this, one which really goes further than he had been hoping. He had expected a formal toast, nothing more, which, given the coldness of recent years, would actually have been a good sign. Several people who were among those present have assured me that, if one merely reads the text of the toast, it is not possible to realize the effect which it had when it was proposed and so brilliantly expounded by the King, who, being the master he is in the art of public speaking, brought out so well each and every intent, each and every shade of it. In that connection, a rather choice detail has been brought to my attention, one which shows to advantage, yet again, the youthful good-heartedness which so many find endearing in King Theodosius. I have been assured that at the very moment when he spoke that word “affinities”, which was after all the great novelty of the speech, one which, mark my words, will lend itself to much comment in the chancelleries, His Majesty, foreseeing the joy it would cause our ambassador, who would see it as the fulfilment of his every effort, the realization of his dream, one might say, in a word his marshal’s baton, His Majesty half-turned towards Vaugoubert, rested that engaging eye of the Oettingens on him and carefully enunciated that word “affinities”, so well chosen, such a felicitous expression, in a tone of voice which let everyone know it was being used quite deliberately and with intent. It appears that Vaugoubert was quite unmanned for a moment; and I must say that, to a certain extent, I sympathize with him. After the banquet, when His Majesty had gathered about him a more restricted circle – I have this from a person whose word is utterly unimpeachable, you understand – it is said the King even approached Vaugoubert and murmured to him, “Well, Marquis, are you satisfied with your pupil?” It is indubitable that a toast of that sort has done more than twenty years of negotiations to strengthen our two countries’ affinities, as Theodosius II so vividly put it. You may say it’s only a word, but it’s certainly one to conjure with – look at the echoes it has awakened throughout Europe, the press everywhere have taken it up, people have sat up and taken notice, it has struck a new note! And that’s quite typical of this particular sovereign. I won’t pretend that he produces such gems of genius every day, but in his prepared speeches, indeed even in the most impromptu conversation, it is very rare for him not to leave his distinguishing mark – I almost said, not to inscribe his signature – by the coining of some trenchant phrase. No one can suspect me of bias in this, as I am utterly opposed to innovation in such things. Nineteen times out of twenty it is pernicious.
– Yes, I was pretty sure the Kaiser’s recent telegram would not be very much to your taste,’ my father said.
As much as to say, ‘That man!’ M. de Norpois cast his eyes heavenwards: ‘For one thing, it was an act of arrant ingratitude. It was worse than a crime – it was a mistake!9 And as for the stupidity of it, the only word for that is monumental. For another thing, if someone doesn’t put a stop to it, the man who gave Bismarck his marching orders is quite capable of repudiating each and every one of Bismarck’s policies. And when that happens, we’ll see a fine how-d’ye-do!
– My husband tells me, Monsieur, that you’re thinking of taking him off to Spain with you one of these summers. I’m sure he would enjoy that.
– Yes, I must say it’s a most engaging prospect, Madame, I’m looking forward to it very much. I really would relish such a trip in your company, my dear fellow. But what about yourself, dear lady, have you any plans for the holidays?
– My son and I may be going to Balbec, but it’s not quite certain.
– Ah, Balbec! A lovely spot, I took a look at it not so many years ago. Lots of very smart houses going up. I’m sure you will find the place to your liking. How, may I inquire, did you come to choose Balbec?
– My son has a great desire to see some of the churches in the area, especially the church of Balbec itself. I had been a little apprehensive about his health, what with the strains of the journey, and especially inconveniences with accommodation. But I have been told they’ve just built a first-class hotel, which will mean he can have the kind of comfort required by his state of health.
– Well, I really must pass on that information to a certain person. She will be glad to know of it.
– The church at Balbec is a fine one, isn’t it, Monsieur?’ I asked, despite the displeasure of knowing that one of Balbec’s attractions lay in its smart houses.
‘Well, it’s not bad. But it can’t bear comparison with delicately worked gems such as the cathedrals of Rheims and Chartres, or that jewel in our crown, the Sainte-Chapelle here in Paris.
– But the church of Balbec is partly Romanesque, isn’t it?
– Absolutely. It is in the Romanesque manner, which is of course one reason among others why it is so frigid. It’s a style which in no way seems to foreshadow the elegance, the delicate inventiveness of the Gothic architects, who could work the stone like lace. No doubt the church of Balbec is worth a visit, if one happens to be in the vicinity – you could while away a rainy afternoon if you had nothing better to do, take a look inside, see the tomb of Admiral de Tourville.10
– Did you happen to go to the dinner at Foreign Affairs last night? my father asked. I couldn’t manage to attend.
– No, smiled M. de Norpois. I must confess I sacrificed that pleasure to a very different way of passing the evening. I dined at the house of a lady of whom you may have heard – the beautiful Madame Swann.’
My mother all but trembled. Being of a readier responsiveness than my father, she was often alarmed on his behalf by something which would not affect him until a moment later. She was the first to notice things which would cause him displeasure, much as bad news for France is known about sooner abroad than at home. However, she was curious to know what sort of people went to the Swanns’, and inquired of M. de Norpois about his fellow guests.
‘Well now …, to tell you the truth … I must say it’s a house at which most of the guests appear to be … gentlemen. There were certainly several married men present – but their wives were all indisposed yesterday evening, and had been unable to go,’ the ambassador replied, with a crafty glance masked by joviality, his eyes full of a demure discretion that pretended to moderate their mischievousness while making it more obvious.
‘To be completely fair, he added, I must also say that there are women who go there. But they … belong – how shall I put it? – let’s say to the world of Republican sympathies, rather than to the world of Swann himself. (This name he pronounced Svann.) Who can tell? One day it may turn out to be a literary or political salon. Although they do appear to be quite satisfied with the present state of affairs. Swann himself actually makes it rather too obvious, if you ask me. I was taken aback that a man of such delicacy should be so brash and tactless, not to say tasteless, about dropping the names of people who’ve invited him and his wife to dinner next week – yet I can assure you they were not people one would be proud to be invited by! He kept on saying, “We’re not free on a single evening!” as though this was something to boast about, as though he was a vulgar outsider, which of course he isn’t. Once upon a time, after all, he did have many friends both male and female, and no doubt not all of the latter, perhaps not even most of them, but I do know for a fact that one of them – I believe one can go so far as to say this, without risking being indiscreet – who is a very great lady indeed, might not have evinced total reluctance at the suggestion of frequenting Mme Swann. And if that had happened, then very likely some more of Panurge’s sheep11 would have followed suit. However, it would appear that Swann put out no feelers in that direction. Ah, what’s this now? What, another Nessel-rode pudding! After such a feast of Lucullus, it will behove me to take the waters at Karlsbad! Mind you, Swann may well have sensed that it would have all been far too difficult. What’s clear is that the marriage was thoroughly deplored. Mention has been made of the wife’s money, but nothing could be further from the truth. How
ever, people did think the whole thing was too unsavoury. And not only that but there was Swann’s aunt, a woman who’s hugely rich and very highly thought of, the wife of a man who, financially speaking, is a force to be reckoned with. Well, not only did she close her doors to Mme Swann, but she even conducted an all-out campaign to make sure all her friends and acquaintances did the same. I don’t mean to imply that anyone in the best Paris society actually cut her dead. No, no, of course not! The husband being, in any case, quite capable of sending round his seconds! Anyway, the strange thing about all of this is that Swann, with all his connections in the best society, lavishes such attention on company of which the best that can be said is that it is extremely mixed. I used to know him quite well, and I must say I was both astounded and amused to see such a man, a man who’s so well bred, so much at home in the most fashionable and exclusive circles, falling over himself to thank the chief under-secretary of the Postmaster General’s for gracing him with a visit, asking him whether Mme Swann might feel free to call on his wife! He must feel out of his element. It’s so clearly not his world. And yet, you know, I don’t think the man’s unhappy. It’s true that the woman stooped to some pretty nasty things in the years before the marriage, some quite unsavoury emotional blackmail – if he ever declined to satisfy her on something or other, she just forbade him access to the child. And poor old Swann, who’s really as naïve as he’s refined, assumed each time that the disappearance of his daughter was mere coincidence, and would not see the truth of the matter. Also, she made him so miserable with her non-stop scenes that everyone thought that, if she ever had her way and got him to marry her, she would lead him a dog’s life, and the marriage would be a disaster. Then lo and behold, what happened was the very opposite! People take great pleasure in laughing behind Swann’s back at the way he goes on about his wife. Not that anyone expects a man who’s more or less aware of the fact that he’s a … – Molière’s word, you understand12 – to go about proclaiming it urbi et orbi. But still, people think he’s going a little too far when he tells you what a wonderful wife he’s got. Yet, you know, it’s not as far-fetched as they think. The way she behaves towards him, which is not the way all husbands would prefer – and, mind you, between you and me, it strikes me as improbable that Swann, who’s nobody’s fool and who had known her for years, didn’t have a shrewd suspicion about you-know-what – there can be no denying that she seems fond of him. I’m not saying she’s not still a bit flighty, and certainly Swann himself doesn’t let the grass grow under his feet in that regard, at least if one listens to what people say – and as you can imagine, people do say. But she’s grateful for what he has done for her; and notwithstanding all the dire forebodings voiced by everyone, she seems to have become as mild as can be.’ This change in Odette may not have been such an extraordinary thing as M. de Norpois thought. She had never believed that Swann would eventually marry her. Every time she informed him in a meaning tone that a certain fashionable gentleman had just married his mistress, she had been met with an icy silence; and if she went so far as to say to him straight out, ‘So, don’t you think that was a nice thing to do? Don’t you think it’s the decent thing for him to make an honest woman of someone that’s given him the best years of her life?’ the most she ever got was the tart reply, ‘I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it – he can please himself.’ In fact, Odette had come close to believing that he would do what he sometimes threatened to do in a fit of temper, and leave her for good, for she had not long since heard a sculptress declare, ‘There’s nothing men won’t stoop to, there’s not a good one among them’; and the pessimism of this profound verity had so struck her that she had taken to uttering it in all sorts of situations, accompanying it with a defeated air which seemed to mean, ‘Well, what would you expect, it’d be just my luck!’ As a consequence, all efficacy had gone from the optimistic maxim which had hitherto guided Odette’s steps through life: ‘You can treat men that are in love with you any way you like, they’re such fools,’ to which she always gave the twinkle of the eye which might accompany a statement like, ‘Don’t worry – he’s quite house-trained!’ Meanwhile, Odette was mortified to think how Swann’s conduct must appear to one of her friends, who had recently managed to marry a man whom she had been ‘with’ for a shorter time than Swann and Odette had been together, although she did not even have a child by him, and who was relatively accepted now, receiving invitations to balls at the Élysée Palace. A more perceptive clinician than M. de Norpois could no doubt have made a different diagnosis: that it was this feeling of humiliation and shame that had embittered Odette, that the shrewish character which came out in her was neither integral to her nor an incurable malady; and he might have easily foreseen what had in fact taken place, that a new regimen, marriage, would bring about an almost magical remission of these painful attacks which, though of daily occurrence, were in no way organic. The marriage came as a surprise to almost everybody, which is itself a surprise. No doubt, few people understand either the purely subjective nature of the phenomenon of love, or how it creates a supplementary person who is quite different from the one who bears our beloved’s name in the outside world, and is mostly formed from elements within ourselves. So there are few who see anything natural in the disproportionate dimensions which we come to perceive in a person who is not the same as the one they see. In the case of Odette, however, it should have been possible to notice that, though she had admittedly never fully appreciated the quality of Swann’s mind, at least she was acquainted with the titles and the details of his writings, that the name of Vermeer was as familiar to her as the name of her dressmaker, that she knew by heart certain traits of Swann, the kind which all other people either mock or do not know, the true fond likeness of which reposes only in a mistress’s or a sister’s heart; and these traits in ourself we cling to so much, even the ones we would most like to see changed, that when a woman comes to have an indulgent and banteringly amicable attachment to them, seeing them rather as they are seen by ourselves and by our close relatives, a long-standing liaison can come to have something of the mildness and strength of affections within the family. The feelings we share with another are sanctified when, in judging one of our faults, that person adopts the same point of view as we do. However, there were certain aspects of Swann’s mind which Odette had in fact appreciated, since they too were in part outcomes of his character. She lamented the fact that when Swann did produce a study or some other piece of writing, these aspects were not as perceptible as in his letters or in his conversation, where they abounded. She suggested that he should give them greater scope. Her reason for this was that it was these features she herself preferred in the man; but since this preference meant only that these things were more ‘him’ than others, she may have been right to wish they might be more visible in his writings. Perhaps she thought too that if these writings could have more vitality in them, they might be more successful, which might then have enabled her to aspire to the thing which in her time with the Verdurins she had come to see as the greatest of all achievements – a salon of her own.
Twenty years earlier, those who thought such a marriage quite outlandish, people who, if the question had ever arisen for themselves, would have wondered, ‘What ever will M. de Guermantes think, what will Bréauté have to say, when I marry Mlle de Montmorency?’, the people who maintain that sort of social ideal, would have included Swann himself: in those days he had gone to great trouble to be elected to membership of the Jockey Club, and had fully expected that, by eventually making a brilliant marriage, he would consolidate his position and become one of the most notable men about town. However, if they are not to wither and fade, such imaginings of a future marriage must be constantly revivified by external stimuli. Your dearest dream may be to humiliate the man who spurned you. But if you go to live in another country and hear no more of him, your enemy will come in time to have no importance for you. If you have lost touch with all the people because of whom, tw
enty years ago, you longed to become a member of the Jockey Club or the Institut de France, the prospect of belonging to one or other of these bodies will have lost all its power of attraction. A long-standing relationship can do as much as illness, retirement or a religious conversion to replace old images with new. When Swann married Odette, he did not go through a process of renunciation of his former social ambitions – she had long since brought him to a state of detachment from them, in the spiritual sense of the word. And had he not been detached from them, it would have been all the more to his credit. In general, marriages which degrade one of the partners are the worthiest of all, because they entail the sacrifice of a more or less flattering situation to a purely private satisfaction – and, of course, marrying for money must be excluded from the notion of a degrading match, as no couple of whom one partner has been sold to the other has ever failed to be admitted in the end to good society, given the weight of tradition, the done thing and the need to avoid having double standards. In any case, the idea of engaging in one of those cross-breedings common to Mendelian experiments and Greek mythology, and of joining with a creature of a different race, an archduchess or a good-time girl, someone of blue blood or no blood at all, might well have titillated the artist, if not the pervert, in Swann. On the occasions when it occurred to him that he might one day marry Odette, there was only one person in society whose opinion he would have cared for, the Duchesse de Guermantes, and snobbery had nothing to do with this. Odette herself was all but indifferent to the Duchesse de Guermantes, thinking only of the people who were immediately above her, rather than of those who inhabited such a remote and exalted sphere. But at moments when Swann sat day-dreaming about what it might be like to be the husband of Odette, he always saw the moment when he would introduce her, and especially their daughter, to the Princesse des Laumes, or the Duchesse de Guermantes as she had become upon the death of her father-in-law. He had no desire to present them to anyone else; but as he imagined the Duchesse talking about him to Odette and Odette talking to Mme de Guermantes, and the tenderness the latter would show to Gilberte, making much of her, making him proud of his daughter, he could be so moved that he spoke aloud the words they would say. The circumstances which made up this fancied presentation scene were as detailed and concrete as those invented by people who set about drawing up ways to spend some huge imaginary lottery prize. To the extent that a decision may be motivated by a mental image coinciding with it, it can be said that the purpose of Swann’s marrying Odette was to introduce her and Gilberte, even though no one else might be present, even though no one else might ever know of it, to the Duchesse de Guermantes. As will be seen, the fulfilment of this social ambition, the only one he had ever harboured for his wife and child, was the very one which was to be denied him; and the veto preventing it was to be so absolute that Swann was to die without imagining that the Duchesse would ever meet them. It will be seen too that the Duchesse de Guermantes did come, after Swann’s death, to be acquainted with Odette and Gilberte. He might well have been wise, given that he saw so much importance in something so trivial, not to see the future as too dark in that respect, and not to exclude the possibility that the meeting he longed for might take place, if only at a time when he was no longer there to enjoy it. The mills of causality, which eventually bring to pass more or less all possible effects, including even those which had been believed to be the least likely, can at times grind slowly. Their workings can be slowed even more by our own desire, which impedes them through trying to hasten them, or even by our very existence; and they may produce nothing until long after the exhaustion of that desire, or even the end of our life. Swann could really be said to have known this already from his own experience – for, when he eventually married the Odette whom he had not found to his taste to begin with, whom he had then loved so distractedly, but whom he did not marry until he had stopped loving her, until the man who had once longed to spend his whole life with Odette, and who had despaired of ever being able to do so, had long since died within him, did not this mode of posthumous happiness somehow foreshadow what was to happen after his death?
In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower Page 6
