Proust (§20/22) Swann’s Way. [M. Swann conceals from the narrator’s family his dinner with a princess.]

 

by Corry Shores

 

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[The following is summary, with my own bracketed comments. Proofreading is incomplete, so I apologize in advance for my distracting typos.]

 

 

 

 

Marcel Proust

 

Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I

Swan's Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past

 

Première partie

Overature

 

Combray I.

 

§20/22

[M. Swann conceals from the narrator’s family his dinner with a princess.]

 

 

Brief summary:

M. Swann once dined with a princess, but he concealed this fact from the narrator’s family.

 

 

 

 

Summary

 

[We have  been discussing how M. Swann was secretly welcomed among high society, but he concealed this when visiting the narrator’s family, who remained completely unaware of it.] One evening Swann came from Paris. He apologized for being dressed very formally. Françoise learned from Swann’s coachman that Swann had dined with a princess. [We later learn the following about Françoise: “Françoise, my aunt’s cook who used to be put in charge of me when I was at Combray”.] Upon learning this from Françoise, the narrator’s aunt seemed unimpressed [perhaps because she did not believe it, or maybe somehow she does know. In §18/19-20 there is more on the great-aunt regarding this topic, but perhaps it is not the same aunt.]

 

 

 

From the English translation:

§22

One day when he had come to see us after dinner in Paris, and had begged pardon for being in evening clothes, Françoise, when he had gone, told us that she had got it from his coachman that he had been dining “with a princess.” “A pretty sort of princess,” drawled my aunt; “I know them,” and she shrugged her shoulders without raising her eyes from her knitting, serenely ironical.

 

 

From the French:

§20

Un jour qu’il était venu nous voir à Paris après dîner en s’excusant d’être en habit, Françoise ayant, après son départ, dit tenir du cocher qu’il avait dîné «chez une princesse» — «Oui, chez une princesse du demi-monde!» avait répondu ma tante en haussant les épaules sans lever les yeux de sur son tricot, avec une ironie sereine.

 

 

 

Proust, Marcel. Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96d/index.html

 

Proust, Marcel. Swan’s Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past. Transl. C.K. Scott Moncrieff.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96s/index.html

 

 

.

Proust (§19/21) Swann’s Way. [M. Swann entered the highest societies without giving any indication to the narrator’s family.]

 

by Corry Shores

 

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[The following is summary, with my own bracketed comments. Proofreading is incomplete, so I apologize in advance for my distracting typos.]

 

 

 

 

Marcel Proust

 

Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I

Swan's Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past

 

Première partie

Overature

 

Combray I.

 

§19/21

[M. Swann entered the highest societies without giving any indication to the narrator’s family.]

 

 

Brief summary:

The narrator’s family did not know that M. Swann, after their dinner parties, would enter into the highest and most exclusive societies.

 

 

 

 

Summary

 

The narrator’s great-aunt assumed that M. Swann was of high enough social status as to be welcomed into the company of the upper middle class. But without her or others in the narrator’s family knowing, after leaving their dinner party, he would enter the company of the most exclusive and highest societies. This is a lot like going from our mundane world into a mythological hidden place of resplendence and riches.

 

 

 

From the English translation:

§21

But if anyone had suggested to my aunt that this Swann, who, in his capacity as the son of old M. Swann, was ‘fully qualified’ to be received by any of the ‘upper middle class,’ the most respected barristers and solicitors of Paris (though he was perhaps a trifle inclined to let this hereditary privilege go into abeyance), had another almost secret existence of a wholly different kind: that when he left our house in Paris, saying that he must go home to bed, he would no sooner have turned the corner than he would stop, retrace his steps, and be off to some drawing-room on whose like no stockbroker or associate of stockbrokers had ever set eyes — that would have seemed to my aunt as extraordinary as, to a woman of wider reading, the thought of being herself on terms of intimacy with Aristaeus, of knowing that he would, when he had finished his conversation with her, plunge deep into the realms of Thetis, into an empire veiled from mortal eyes, in which Virgil depicts him as being received with open arms; or — to be content with an image more likely to have occurred to her, for she had seen it painted on the plates we used for biscuits at Combray — as the thought of having had to dinner Ali Baba, who, as soon as he found himself alone and unobserved, would make his way into the cave, resplendent with its unsuspected treasures.

 

 

From the French:

§19

Mais si l’on avait dit à ma grand’mère que ce Swann qui, en tant que fils Swann était parfaitement «qualifié» pour être reçu par toute la «belle bourgeoisie», par les notaires ou les avoués les plus estimés de Paris (privilège qu’il semblait laisser tomber en peu en quenouille), avait, comme en cachette, une vie toute différente; qu’en sortant de chez nous, à Paris, après nous avoir dit qu’il rentrait se coucher, il rebroussait chemin à peine la rue tournée et se rendait dans tel salon que jamais l’œil d’aucun agent ou associé d’agent ne contempla, cela eût paru aussi extraordinaire à ma tante qu’aurait pu l’être pour une dame plus lettrée la pensée d’être personnellement liée avec Aristée dont elle aurait compris qu’il allait, après avoir causé avec elle, plonger au sein des royaumes de Thétis, dans un empire soustrait aux yeux des mortels et où Virgile nous le montre reçu à bras ouverts; ou, pour s’en tenir à une image qui avait plus de chance de lui venir à l’esprit, car elle l’avait vue peinte sur nos assiettes à petits fours de Combray — d’avoir eu à dîner Ali-Baba, lequel quand il se saura seul, pénétrera dans la caverne, éblouissante de trésors insoupçonnés.

 

 

 

Proust, Marcel. Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96d/index.html

 

Proust, Marcel. Swan’s Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past. Transl. C.K. Scott Moncrieff.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96s/index.html

 

 

.

Proust (§18/19-20) Swann’s Way. [M. Swann’s high social status was not obvious.]

 

by Corry Shores

 

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[The following is summary, with my own bracketed comments. Proofreading is incomplete, so I apologize in advance for my distracting typos.]

 

 

 

 

Marcel Proust

 

Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I

Swan's Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past

 

Première partie

Overature

 

Combray I.

 

§18/19-20

[M. Swann’s high social status was not obvious.]

 

 

Brief summary:

M. Swann’s behavior never indicated his high social status, and the narrator’s family had no reason to think so anyway.

 

 

 

 

Summary

 

The narrator’s family was unaware of M. Swann’s place in high society, because he was discrete about it, and they assumed he stayed in the same social class as his parents. M. Swann’s father was a stockbroker, which meant their family income stayed within a certain limited range. The narrator’s family did not have any reason to suspect that M. Swann associated with the higher social class, because he did not show much refinement and social grace when discussing such things as cuisine or art. However, he did often entertain them with lively and witty stories about his latest adventures with people they also knew.

 

The narrator’s great-aunt often even joked about M. Swann being of a higher class. It was funny for her, because she thought it in fact highly improbable.

 

 

 

From the English translation:

§19

Our utter ignorance of the brilliant part which Swann was playing in the world of fashion was, of course, due in part to his own reserve and discretion, but also to the fact that middle-class people in those days took what was almost a Hindu view of society, which they held to consist of sharply defined castes, so that everyone at his birth found himself called to that station in life which his parents already occupied, and nothing, except the chance of a brilliant career or of a ‘good’ marriage, could extract you from that station or admit you to a superior caste. M. Swann, the father, had been a stockbroker; and so ‘young Swann’ found himself immured for life in a caste where one’s fortune, as in a list of taxpayers, varied between such and such limits of income. We knew the people with whom his father had associated, and so we knew his own associates, the people with whom he was ‘in a position to mix.’ If he knew other people besides, those were youthful acquaintances on whom the old friends of the family, like my relatives, shut their eyes all the more good-naturedly that Swann himself, after he was left an orphan, still came most faithfully to see us; but we would have been ready to wager that the people outside our acquaintance whom Swann knew were of the sort to whom he would not have dared to raise his hat, had he met them while he was walking with ourselves. Had there been such a thing as a determination to apply to Swann a social coefficient peculiar to himself, as distinct from all the other sons of other stockbrokers in his father’s position, his coefficient would have been rather lower than theirs, because, leading a very simple life, and having always had a craze for ‘antiques’ and pictures, he now lived and piled up his collections in an old house which my grandmother longed to visit, but which stood on the Quai d’Orléans, a neighbourhood in which my great-aunt thought it most degrading to be quartered. “Are you really a connoisseur, now?” she would say to him; “I ask for your own sake, as you are likely to have ‘fakes’ palmed off on you by the dealers,” for she did not, in fact, endow him with any critical faculty, and had no great opinion of the intelligence of a man who, in conversation, would avoid serious topics and shewed a very dull preciseness, not only when he gave us kitchen recipes, going into the most minute details, but even when my grandmother’s sisters were talking to him about art. When challenged by them to give an opinion, or to express his admiration for some picture, he would remain almost impolitely silent, and would then make amends by furnishing (if he could) some fact or other about the gallery in which the picture was hung, or the date at which it had been painted. But as a rule he would content himself with trying to amuse us by telling us the story of his latest adventure — and he would have a fresh story for us on every occasion — with some one whom we ourselves knew, such as the Combray chemist, or our cook, or our coachman. These stories certainly used to make my great-aunt laugh, but she could never tell whether that was on account of the absurd parts which Swann invariably made himself play in the adventures, or of the wit that he shewed in telling us of them. “It is easy to see that you are a regular ‘character,’ M. Swann!”

 

§20

As she was the only member of our family who could be described as a trifle ‘common,’ she would always take care to remark to strangers, when Swann was mentioned, that he could easily, if he had wished to, have lived in the Boulevard Haussmann or the Avenue de l’Opéra, and that he was the son of old M. Swann who must have left four or five million francs, but that it was a fad of his. A fad which, moreover, she thought was bound to amuse other people so much that in Paris, when M. Swann called on New Year’s Day bringing her a little packet of marrons glacés, she never failed, if there were strangers in the room, to say to him: “Well, M. Swann, and do you still live next door to the Bonded Vaults, so as to be sure of not missing your train when you go to Lyons?” and she would peep out of the corner of her eye, over her glasses, at the other visitors.

 

 

From the French:

§18

L’ignorance où nous étions de cette brillante vie mondaine que menait Swann tenait évidemment en partie à la réserve et à la discrétion de son caractère, mais aussi à ce que les bourgeois d’alors se faisaient de la société une idée un peu hindoue et la considéraient comme composée de castes fermées où chacun, dès sa naissance, se trouvait placé dans le rang qu’occupaient ses parents, et d’où rien, à moins des hasards d’une carrière exceptionnelle ou d’un mariage inespéré, ne pouvait vous tirer pour vous faire pénétrer dans une caste supérieure. M. Swann, le père, était agent de change; le «fils Swann» se trouvait faire partie pour toute sa vie d’une caste où les fortunes, comme dans une catégorie de contribuables, variaient entre tel et tel revenu. On savait quelles avaient été les fréquentations de son père, on savait donc quelles étaient les siennes, avec quelles personnes il était «en situation» de frayer. S’il en connaissait d’autres, c’étaient relations de jeune homme sur lesquelles des amis anciens de sa famille, comme étaient mes parents, fermaient d’autant plus bienveillamment les yeux qu’il continuait, depuis qu’il était orphelin, à venir très fidèlement nous voir; mais il y avait fort à parier que ces gens inconnus de nous qu’il voyait, étaient de ceux qu’il n’aurait pas osé saluer si, étant avec nous, il les avait rencontrés. Si l’on avait voulu à toute force appliquer à Swann un coefficient social qui lui fût personnel, entre les autres fils d’agents de situation égale à celle de ses parents, ce coefficient eût été pour lui un peu inférieur parce que, très simple de façon et ayant toujours eu une «toquade» d’objets anciens et de peinture, il demeurait maintenant dans un vieil hôtel où il entassait ses collections et que ma grand’mère rêvait de visiter, mais qui était situé quai d’Orléans, quartier que ma grand’tante trouvait infamant d’habiter. «Etes-vous seulement connaisseur? je vous demande cela dans votre intérêt, parce que vous devez vous faire repasser des croûtes par les marchands», lui disait ma grand’tante; elle ne lui supposait en effet aucune compétence et n’avait pas haute idée même au point de vue intellectuel d’un homme qui dans la conversation évitait les sujets sérieux et montrait une précision fort prosaïque non seulement quand il nous donnait, en entrant dans les moindres détails, des recettes de cuisine, mais même quand les sœurs de ma grand’mère parlaient de sujets artistiques. Provoqué par elles à donner son avis, à exprimer son admiration pour un tableau, il gardait un silence presque désobligeant et se rattrapait en revanche s’il pouvait fournir sur le musée où il se trouvait, sur la date où il avait été peint, un renseignement matériel. Mais d’habitude il se contentait de chercher à nous amuser en racontant chaque fois une histoire nouvelle qui venait de lui arriver avec des gens choisis parmi ceux que nous connaissions, avec le pharmacien de Combray, avec notre cuisinière, avec notre cocher. Certes ces récits faisaient rire ma grand’tante, mais sans qu’elle distinguât bien si c’était à cause du rôle ridicule que s’y donnait toujours Swann ou de l’esprit qu’il mettait à les conter: «On peut dire que vous êtes un vrai type, monsieur Swann!» Comme elle était la seule personne un peu vulgaire de notre famille, elle avait soin de faire remarquer aux étrangers, quand on parlait de Swann, qu’il aurait pu, s’il avait voulu, habiter boulevard Haussmann ou avenue de l’Opéra, qu’il était le fils de M. Swann qui avait dû lui laisser quatre ou cinq millions, mais que c’était sa fantaisie. Fantaisie qu’elle jugeait du reste devoir être si divertissante pour les autres, qu’à Paris, quand M. Swann venait le 1er janvier lui apporter son sac de marrons glacés, elle ne manquait pas, s’il y avait du monde, de lui dire: «Eh bien! M. Swann, vous habitez toujours près de l’Entrepôt des vins, pour être sûr de ne pas manquer le train quand vous prenez le chemin de Lyon?» Et elle regardait du coin de l’œil, par-dessus son lorgnon, les autres visiteurs.

 

 

 

Proust, Marcel. Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96d/index.html

 

Proust, Marcel. Swan’s Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past. Transl. C.K. Scott Moncrieff.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96s/index.html

 

 

.

Proust (§17/18) Swann’s Way. [M. Swann belonged to high society.]

 

by Corry Shores

 

[Search Blog Here. Index-tags are found on the bottom of the left column.]

 

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[The following is summary, with my own bracketed comments. Proofreading is incomplete, so I apologize in advance for my distracting typos.]

 

 

 

Marcel Proust

 

Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I

Swan's Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past

 

Première partie

Overature

 

Combray I.

 

§17/18

[M. Swann belonged to high society.]

 

 

Brief summary:

M. Swann was a prominent member of important societies, even though the narrator’s family, who often hosted him for dinner, were completely unaware of this.

 

 

 

Summary

 

M. Swann often visited the narrator’s family for many years before Swann’s marriage. All the while, the narrator’s family did not know that Swann was a more prominent figure in the social world than he may have seemed, as “he had entirely ceased to live in the kind of society which his family had frequented.” Specifically, he was “one of the smartest members of the Jockey Club, a particular friend of the Comte de Paris and of the Prince of Wales, and one of the men most sought after in the aristocratic world of the Faubourg Saint-Germain.”

 

 

 

 

From the English translation:

§18

For many years, albeit — and especially before his marriage — M. Swann the younger came often to see them at Combray, my great-aunt and grandparents never suspected that he had entirely ceased to live in the kind of society which his family had frequented, or that, under the sort of incognito which the name of Swann gave him among us, they were harbouring — with the complete innocence of a family of honest innkeepers who have in their midst some distinguished highwayman and never know it — one of the smartest members of the Jockey Club, a particular friend of the Comte de Paris and of the Prince of Wales, and one of the men most sought after in the aristocratic world of the Faubourg Saint-Germain.

 

From the French [note, in the first line, “mon mariage” was changed to “son”]:

§17

Pendant bien des années, où pourtant, surtout avant son mariage, M. Swann, le fils, vint souvent les voir à Combray, ma grand’tante et mes grands-parents ne soupçonnèrent pas qu’il ne vivait plus du tout dans la société qu’avait fréquentée sa famille et que sous l’espèce d’incognito que lui faisait chez nous ce nom de Swann, ils hébergeaient — avec la parfaite innocence d’honnêtes hôteliers qui ont chez eux, sans le savoir, un célèbre brigand — un des membres les plus élégants du Jockey-Club, ami préféré du comte de Paris et du prince de Galles, un des hommes les plus choyés de la haute société du faubourg Saint-Germain.

 

 

 

Proust, Marcel. Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96d/index.html

 

Proust, Marcel. Swan’s Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past. Transl. C.K. Scott Moncrieff.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96s/index.html

 

 

.

Proust (§16/17) Swann’s Way. [M. Swann’s father and Grandfather were friends. Father Swann’s habit of remembering his deceased wife often but only a little each time inspired Grandfather’s beautiful saying, “Often, but a little at a time, like poor old Swann.”]

 

by Corry Shores

 

[Search Blog Here. Index-tags are found on the bottom of the left column.]

 

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[The following is summary, with my own bracketed comments. Proofreading is incomplete, so I apologize in advance for my distracting typos.]

 

 

“Souvent, mais peu à la fois, comme le pauvre père Swann”

“Often, but a little at a time, like poor old Swann”

 

Marcel Proust

 

Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I

Swan's Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past

 

Première partie

Overature

 

Combray I.

 

§16 / §17

[M. Swann’s father and Grandfather were friends. Father Swann’s habit of remembering his deceased wife often but only a little each time inspired Grandfather’s beautiful saying, “Often, but a little at a time, like poor old Swann.”]

 

 

Brief summary:

When M. Swann arrived for dinner, it was so dark in the garden that he was recognized at first by his voice rather than by his visual appearance. M. Swann is fond of Grandfather, who was also a close friend of M. Swann’s now-deceased father. Grandfather tells the story of when Father Swann was grieving over his dead wife. He said, “It’s a funny thing, now; I very often think of my poor wife, but I cannot think of her very much at any one time.” Grandfather turned this into a beautiful saying: “Often, but a little at a time, like poor old Swann.”

 

 

 

Summary

 

In the dark of the garden, it was hard to know if it was M. Swann who arrived. Instead, he could be identified by his voice. M. Swann was fond of the narrator’s grandfather, although there was a substantial difference in their age. In fact, M. Swann’s father and the narrator’s grandfather were once close friends. A few times a year, Grandfather would tell the story of M. Swann’s father at the time of his wife’s death. Father Swann stayed by his wife’s bedside, but after she died, Grandfather convinced him to leave the room while they laid her in her coffin. They went for a walk on the Swann property, and Father Swann [although grieving] took Grandfather’s arm and exclaimed how wonderful it was for them to be alive and together to enjoy their nice surroundings and the moment. Then after realizing the gravity of the situation, Father Swann resorted to a habitual gesture he often employed when suddenly perplexed, namely, to wipe his brow, eyes, and then glasses. Father Swann lived for just another two years and never fully got over the death of his wife. He would comment that, “It’s a funny thing, now; I very often think of my poor wife, but I cannot think of her very much at any one time.” Grandfather converted this into a saying that he often employed, “Souvent, mais peu à la fois, comme le pauvre père Swann” / “Often, but a little at a time, like poor old Swann”. The narrator would have assumed Father Swann to be a monster had not Grandfather said he had a heart of gold. [I am not sure why he would be a monster. Maybe the idea is that he did not think enough about his dead wife, because he only did it a little at a time, and in that sense he did not behave in a sufficiently human way. Or maybe the idea is that he caused himself prolonged grief by always thinking about her, and in that sense was a monster to himself.]

 

 

 

 

From the English translation [boldface mine]:

§17

And there we would all stay, hanging on the words which would fall from my grandmother’s lips when she brought us back her report of the enemy, as though there had been some uncertainty among a vast number of possible invaders, and then, soon after, my grandfather would say: “I can hear Swann’s voice.” And, indeed, one could tell him only by his voice, for it was difficult to make out his face with its arched nose and green eyes, under a high forehead fringed with fair, almost red hair, dressed in the Bressant style, because in the garden we used as little light as possible, so as not to attract mosquitoes: and I would slip away as though not going for anything in particular, to tell them to bring out the syrups; for my grandmother made a great point, thinking it ‘nicer’ of their not being allowed to seem anything out of the ordinary, which we kept for visitors only. Although a far younger man, M. Swann was very much attached to my grandfather, who had been an intimate friend, in his time, of Swann’s father, an excellent but an eccentric man in whom the least little thing would, it seemed, often check the flow of his spirits and divert the current of his thoughts. Several times in the course of a year I would hear my grandfather tell at table the story, which never varied, of the behaviour of M. Swann the elder upon the death of his wife, by whose bedside he had watched day and night. My grandfather, who had not seen him for a long time, hastened to join him at the Swanns’ family property on the outskirts of Combray, and managed to entice him for a moment, weeping profusely, out of the death-chamber, so that he should not be present when the body was laid in its coffin. They took a turn or two in the park, where there was a little sunshine. Suddenly M. Swann seized my grandfather by the arm and cried, “Oh, my dear old friend, how fortunate we are to be walking here together on such a charming day! Don’t you see how pretty they are, all these trees — my hawthorns, and my new pond, on which you have never congratulated me? You look as glum as a night-cap. Don’t you feel this little breeze? Ah! whatever you may say, it’s good to be alive all the same, my dear Amédée!” And then, abruptly, the memory of his dead wife returned to him, and probably thinking it too complicated to inquire into how, at such a time, he could have allowed himself to be carried away by an impulse of happiness, he confined himself to a gesture which he habitually employed whenever any perplexing question came into his mind: that is, he passed his hand across his forehead, dried his eyes, and wiped his glasses. And he could never be consoled for the loss of his wife, but used to say to my grandfather, during the two years for which he survived her, “It’s a funny thing, now; I very often think of my poor wife, but I cannot think of her very much at any one time.” “Often, but a little at a time, like poor old Swann,” became one of my grandfather’s favourite phrases, which he would apply to all kinds of things. And I should have assumed that this father of Swann’s had been a monster if my grandfather, whom I regarded as a better judge than myself, and whose word was my law and often led me in the long run to pardon offences which I should have been inclined to condemn, had not gone on to exclaim, “But, after all, he had a heart of gold.”

 

From the French [boldface mine]:

§16

Nous restions tous suspendus aux nouvelles que ma grand’mère allait nous apporter de l’ennemi, comme si on eût pu hésiter entre un grand nombre possible d’assaillants, et bientôt après mon grand-père disait: «Je reconnais la voix de Swann.» On ne le reconnaissait en effet qu’à la voix, on distinguait mal son visage au nez busqué, aux yeux verts, sous un haut front entouré de cheveux blonds presque roux, coiffés à la Bressant, parce que nous gardions le moins de lumière possible au jardin pour ne pas attirer les moustiques et j’allais, sans en avoir l’air, dire qu’on apportât les sirops; ma grand’mère attachait beaucoup d’importance, trouvant cela plus aimable, à ce qu’ils n’eussent pas l’air de figurer d’une façon exceptionnelle, et pour les visites seulement. M. Swann, quoique beaucoup plus jeune que lui, était très lié avec mon grand-père qui avait été un des meilleurs amis de son père, homme excellent mais singulier, chez qui, paraît-il, un rien suffisait parfois pour interrompre les élans du cœur, changer le cours de la pensée. J’entendais plusieurs fois par an mon grand-père raconter à table des anecdotes toujours les mêmes sur l’attitude qu’avait eue M. Swann le père, à la mort de sa femme qu’il avait veillée jour et nuit. Mon grand-père qui ne l’avait pas vu depuis longtemps était accouru auprès de lui dans la propriété que les Swann possédaient aux environs de Combray, et avait réussi, pour qu’il n’assistât pas à la mise en bière, à lui faire quitter un moment, tout en pleurs, la chambre mortuaire. Ils firent quelques pas dans le parc où il y avait un peu de soleil. Tout d’un coup, M. Swann prenant mon grand-père par le bras, s’était écrié: «Ah! mon vieil ami, quel bonheur de se promener ensemble par ce beau temps. Vous ne trouvez pas ça joli tous ces arbres, ces aubépines et mon étang dont vous ne m’avez jamais félicité? Vous avez l’air comme un bonnet de nuit. Sentez-vous ce petit vent? Ah! on a beau dire, la vie a du bon tout de même, mon cher Amédée!» Brusquement le souvenir de sa femme morte lui revint, et trouvant sans doute trop compliqué de chercher comment il avait pu à un pareil moment se laisser aller à un mouvement de joie, il se contenta, par un geste qui lui était familier chaque fois qu’une question ardue se présentait à son esprit, de passer la main sur son front, d’essuyer ses yeux et les verres de son lorgnon. Il ne put pourtant pas se consoler de la mort de sa femme, mais pendant les deux années qu’il lui survécut, il disait à mon grand-père: «C’est drôle, je pense très souvent à ma pauvre femme, mais je ne peux y penser beaucoup à la fois.» «Souvent, mais peu à la fois, comme le pauvre père Swann», était devenu une des phrases favorites de mon grand-père qui la prononçait à propos des choses les plus différentes. Il m’aurait paru que ce père de Swann était un monstre, si mon grand-père que je considérais comme meilleur juge et dont la sentence faisant jurisprudence pour moi, m’a souvent servi dans la suite à absoudre des fautes que j’aurais été enclin à condamner, ne s’était récrié: «Mais comment? c’était un cœur d’or!»

 

 

 

Proust, Marcel. Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96d/index.html

 

Proust, Marcel. Swan’s Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past. Transl. C.K. Scott Moncrieff.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96s/index.html

 

 

.

Proust (§15/16) Swann’s Way. [The narrator enjoyed his mother’s goodnight kisses, and M. Swann often came alone for dinner]

 

by Corry Shores

 

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[The following is summary, with my own bracketed comments. Proofreading is incomplete, so I apologize in advance for my distracting typos.]

 

 

Marcel Proust

 

Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I

Swan's Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past

 

Première partie

Overature

 

Combray I.

 

§15 / §16

[The narrator enjoyed his mother’s goodnight kisses, and M. Swann often came alone for dinner.]

 

 

Brief summary:

The narrator as a boy cherished the nightly ritual of his mother kissing him goodnight. Sometimes M. Swann would could for dinner, but normally without his wife, on account of their unfortunate marriage.

 

 

 

Summary

 

The narrator as a boy enjoyed his mother’s loving attention when she would come up to his bedroom to give him a goodnight kiss. Sometimes as she was about to leave the room, he would call her back for another kiss, which she would reluctantly do, because this annoyed the father. When they had dinner guests, she did not come for the nightly ritual. Normally they had just one guest, M. Swann. Because he had an unfortunate marriage, his wife was less welcome to come too. The family would sit outside waiting for his arrival.

 

 

 

 

From the English translation:

§16

My sole consolation when I went upstairs for the night was that Mamma would come in and kiss me after I was in bed. But this good night lasted for so short a time: she went down again so soon that the moment in which I heard her climb the stairs, and then caught the sound of her garden dress of blue muslin, from which hung little tassels of plaited straw, rustling along the double-doored corridor, was for me a moment of the keenest sorrow. So much did I love that good night that I reached the stage of hoping that it would come as late as possible, so as to prolong the time of respite during which Mamma would not yet have appeared. Sometimes when, after kissing me, she opened the door to go, I longed to call her back, to say to her “Kiss me just once again,” but I knew that then she would at once look displeased, for the concession which she made to my wretchedness and agitation in coming up to me with this kiss of peace always annoyed my father, who thought such ceremonies absurd, and she would have liked to try to induce me to outgrow the need, the custom of having her there at all, which was a very different thing from letting the custom grow up of my asking her for an additional kiss when she was already crossing the threshold. And to see her look displeased destroyed all the sense of tranquillity she had brought me a moment before, when she bent her loving face down over my bed, and held it out to me like a Host, for an act of Communion in which my lips might drink deeply the sense of her real presence, and with it the power to sleep. But those evenings on which Mamma stayed so short a time in my room were sweet indeed compared to those on which we had guests to dinner, and therefore she did not come at all. Our ‘guests’ were practically limited to M. Swann, who, apart from a few passing strangers, was almost the only person who ever came to the house at Combray, sometimes to a neighbourly dinner (but less frequently since his unfortunate marriage, as my family did not care to receive his wife) and sometimes after dinner, uninvited. On those evenings when, as we sat in front of the house beneath the big chestnut-tree and round the iron table, we heard, from the far end of the garden, not the large and noisy rattle which heralded and deafened as he approached with its ferruginous, interminable, frozen sound any member of the household who had put it out of action by coming in ‘without ringing,’ but the double peal — timid, oval, gilded — of the visitors’ bell, everyone would at once exclaim “A visitor! Who in the world can it be?” but they knew quite well that it could only be M. Swann. My great-aunt, speaking in a loud voice, to set an example, in a tone which she endeavoured to make sound natural, would tell the others not to whisper so; that nothing could be more unpleasant for a stranger coming in, who would be led to think that people were saying things about him which he was not meant to hear; and then my grandmother would be sent out as a scout, always happy to find an excuse for an additional turn in the garden, which she would utilise to remove surreptitiously, as she passed, the stakes of a rose-tree or two, so as to make the roses look a little more natural, as a mother might run her hand through her boy’s hair, after the barber had smoothed it down, to make it stick out properly round his head.

 

From the French:

§15

Ma seule consolation, quand je montais me coucher, était que maman viendrait m’embrasser quand je serais dans mon lit. Mais ce bonsoir durait si peu de temps, elle redescendait si vite, que le moment où je l’entendais monter, puis où passait dans le couloir à double porte le bruit léger de sa robe de jardin en mousseline bleue, à laquelle pendaient de petits cordons de paille tressée, était pour moi un moment douloureux. Il annonçait celui qui allait le suivre, où elle m’aurait quitté, où elle serait redescendue. De sorte que ce bonsoir que j’aimais tant, j’en arrivais à souhaiter qu’il vînt le plus tard possible, à ce que se prolongeât le temps de répit où maman n’était pas encore venue. Quelquefois quand, après m’avoir embrassé, elle ouvrait la porte pour partir, je voulais la rappeler, lui dire «embrasse-moi une fois encore», mais je savais qu’aussitôt elle aurait son visage fâché, car la concession qu’elle faisait à ma tristesse et à mon agitation en montant m’embrasser, en m’apportant ce baiser de paix, agaçait mon père qui trouvait ces rites absurdes, et elle eût voulu tâcher de m’en faire perdre le besoin, l’habitude, bien loin de me laisser prendre celle de lui demander, quand elle était déjà sur le pas de la porte, un baiser de plus. Or la voir fâchée détruisait tout le calme qu’elle m’avait apporté un instant avant, quand elle avait détruisait vers mon lit sa figure aimante, et me l’avait tendue comme une hostie pour une communion de paix où mes lèvres puiseraient sa présence réelle et le pouvoir de m’endormir. Mais ces soirs-là, où maman en somme restait si peu de temps dans ma chambre, étaient doux encore en comparaison de ceux où il y avait du monde à dîner et où, à cause de cela, elle ne montait pas me dire bonsoir. Le monde se bornait habituellement à M. Swann, qui, en dehors de quelques étrangers de passage, était à peu près la seule personne qui vînt chez nous à Combray, quelquefois pour dîner en voisin (plus rarement depuis qu’il avait fait ce mauvais mariage, parce que mes parents ne voulaient pas recevoir sa femme), quelquefois après le dîner, à l’improviste. Les soirs où, assis devant la maison sous le grand marronnier, autour de la table de fer, nous entendions au bout du jardin, non pas le grelot profus et criard qui arrosait, qui étourdissait au passage de son bruit ferrugineux, intarissable et glacé, toute personne de la maison qui le déclenchait en entrant «sans sonner», mais le double tintement timide, ovale et doré de la clochette pour les étrangers, tout le monde aussitôt se demandait: «Une visite, qui cela peut-il être?» mais on savait bien que cela ne pouvait être que M. Swann; ma grand’tante parlant à haute voix, pour prêcher d’exemple, sur un ton qu’elle s’efforçait de rendre naturel, disait de ne pas chuchoter ainsi; que rien n’est plus désobligeant pour une personne qui arrive et à qui cela fait croire qu’on est en train de dire des choses qu’elle ne doit pas entendre; et on envoyait en éclaireur ma grand’mère, toujours heureuse d’avoir un prétexte pour faire un tour de jardin de plus, et qui en profitait pour arracher subrepticement au passage quelques tuteurs de rosiers afin de rendre aux roses un peu de naturel, comme une mère qui, pour les faire bouffer, passe la main dans les cheveux de son fils que le coiffeur a trop aplatis.

 

 

 

Proust, Marcel. Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96d/index.html

 

Proust, Marcel. Swan’s Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past. Transl. C.K. Scott Moncrieff.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96s/index.html

 

 

.

Proust (§14/15) Swann’s Way. [Grandmother’s seeming concern about Grandfather’s drinking and real concern for the narrator’s well-being and future]

 

by Corry Shores

 

[Search Blog Here. Index-tags are found on the bottom of the left column.]

 

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[The following is summary, with my own bracketed comments. Proofreading is incomplete, so I apologize in advance for my distracting typos.]

 

 

Marcel Proust

 

Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I

Swan's Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past

 

Première partie

Overature

 

Combray I.

 

§14 / §15

[Grandmother often returns from walks to deal with a repeated, artificial crisis at home; all the while, her real concern was with problems in the narrator’s character, health, and future]

 

 

Brief summary:

Grandmother’s walks would often be interrupted when great-aunt tempted grandfather to drink a few forbidden drops of brandy, upon which great-aunt would call grandmother back to deal with the crisis. The narrator, who was just a child at the time, did not realize this was merely teasing behavior, and in his horror he ran off to cry alone. In reality, grandmother was less worried about grandfather’s drinking and more worried about the narrator’s weaknesses in character and health and his consequent uncertain future.

 

 

 

Summary

 

[Previously we noted how the narrator’s grandmother would often go for walks after dinner, even if it was raining.] One thing that would always draw grandmother back to the house from her after-dinner walks was if she was warned that her husband was drinking brandy again. This was really a trick played by the narrator’s great-aunt. Grandfather was not allowed to drink, and great-aunt would tempt him to drink just a few drops so to create a crisis for grandmother to hurry back to. Although in later years the narrator would come to regard this as more playful teasing of grandmother, at that time he was horrified by his great-aunt’s tormenting behavior and would often run off to cry alone at a private place. The narrator then notes that grandmother was in fact less concerned with grandfather’s drinking and more so with the narrator’s lack of will-power, his delicate health, and the uncertainty regarding his future.

 

 

 

 

From the English translation:

§15

When these walks of my grandmother’s took place after dinner there was one thing which never failed to bring her back to the house: that was if (at one of those points when the revolutions of her course brought her, moth-like, in sight of the lamp in the little parlour where the liqueurs were set out on the card-table) my great-aunt called out to her: “Bathilde! Come in and stop your husband from drinking brandy!” For, simply to tease her (she had brought so foreign a type of mind into my father’s family that everyone made a joke of it), my great-aunt used to make my grandfather, who was forbidden liqueurs, take just a few drops. My poor grandmother would come in and beg and implore her husband not to taste the brandy; and he would become annoyed and swallow his few drops all the same, and she would go out again sad and discouraged, but still smiling, for she was so humble and so sweet that her gentleness towards others, and her continual subordination of herself and of her own troubles, appeared on her face blended in a smile which, unlike those seen on the majority of human faces, had no trace in it of irony, save for herself, while for all of us kisses seemed to spring from her eyes, which could not look upon those she loved without yearning to bestow upon them passionate caresses. The torments inflicted on her by my great-aunt, the sight of my grandmother’s vain entreaties, of her in her weakness conquered before she began, but still making the futile endeavour to wean my grandfather from his liqueur-glass — all these were things of the sort to which, in later years, one can grow so well accustomed as to smile at them, to take the tormentor’s side with a happy determination which deludes one into the belief that it is not, really, tormenting; but in those days they filled me with such horror that I longed to strike my great-aunt. And yet, as soon as I heard her “Bathilde! Come in and stop your husband from drinking brandy!” in my cowardice I became at once a man, and did what all we grown men do when face to face with suffering and injustice; I preferred not to see them; I ran up to the top of the house to cry by myself in a little room beside the schoolroom and beneath the roof, which smelt of orris-root, and was scented also by a wild currant-bush which had climbed up between the stones of the outer wall and thrust a flowering branch in through the half-opened window. Intended for a more special and a baser use, this room, from which, in the daytime, I could see as far as the keep of Roussainville-le-Pin, was for a long time my place of refuge, doubtless because it was the only room whose door I was allowed to lock, whenever my occupation was such as required an inviolable solitude; reading or dreaming, secret tears or paroxysms of desire. Alas! I little knew that my own lack of will-power, my delicate health, and the consequent uncertainty as to my future weighed far more heavily on my grandmother’s mind than any little breach of the rules by her husband, during those endless perambulations, afternoon and evening, in which we used to see passing up and down, obliquely raised towards the heavens, her handsome face with its brown and wrinkled cheeks, which with age had acquired almost the purple hue of tilled fields in autumn, covered, if she were walking abroad, by a half-lifted veil, while upon them either the cold or some sad reflection invariably left the drying traces of an involuntary tear.

 

 

From the French:

§14

Quand ces tours de jardin de ma grand’mère avaient lieu après dîner, une chose avait le pouvoir de la faire rentrer: c’était, à un des moments où la révolution de sa promenade la ramenait périodiquement, comme un insecte, en face des lumières du petit salon où les liqueurs étaient servies sur la table à jeu — si ma grand’tante lui criait: «Bathilde! viens donc empêcher ton mari de boire du cognac!» Pour la taquiner, en effet (elle avait apporté dans la famille de mon père un esprit si différent que tout le monde la plaisantait et la tourmentait), comme les liqueurs étaient défendues à mon grand-père, ma grand’tante lui en faisait boire quelques gouttes. Ma pauvre grand’mère entrait, priait ardemment son mari de ne pas goûter au cognac; il se fâchait, buvait tout de même sa gorgée, et ma grand’mère repartait, triste, découragée, souriante pourtant, car elle était si humble de cœur et si douce que sa tendresse pour les autres et le peu de cas qu’elle faisait de sa propre personne et de ses souffrances, se conciliaient dans son regard en un sourire où, contrairement à ce qu’on voit dans le visage de beaucoup d’humains, il n’y a avait d’ironie que pour elle-même, et pour nous tous comme un baiser de ses yeux qui ne pouvaient voir ceux qu’elle chérissait sans les caresser passionnément du regard. Ce supplice que lui infligeait ma grand’tante, le spectacle des vaines prières de ma grand’mère et de sa faiblesse, vaincue d’avance, essayant inutilement d’ôter à mon grand-père le verre à liqueur, c’était de ces choses à la vue desquelles on s’habitue plus tard jusqu’à les considérer en riant et à prendre le parti du persécuteur assez résolument et gaiement pour se persuader à soi-même qu’il ne s’agit pas de persécution; elles me causaient alors une telle horreur, que j’aurais aimé battre ma grand’tante. Mais dès que j’entendais: «Bathilde, viens donc empêcher ton mari de boire du cognac!» déjà homme par la lâcheté, je faisais ce que nous faisons tous, une fois que nous sommes grands, quand il y a devant nous des souffrances et des injustices: je ne voulais pas les voir; je montais sangloter tout en haut de la maison à côté de la salle d’études, sous les toits, dans une petite pièce sentant l’iris, et que parfumait aussi un cassis sauvage poussé au dehors entre les pierres de la muraille et qui passait une branche de fleurs par la fenêtre entr’ouverte. Destinée à un usage plus spécial et plus vulgaire, cette pièce, d’où l’on voyait pendant le jour jusqu’au donjon de Roussainville-le-Pin, servit longtemps de refuge pour moi, sans doute parce qu’elle était la seule qu’il me fût permis de fermer à clef, à toutes celles de mes occupations qui réclamaient une inviolable solitude: la lecture, la rêverie, les larmes et la volupté. Hélas! je ne savais pas que, bien plus tristement que les petits écarts de régime de son mari, mon manque de volonté, ma santé délicate, l’incertitude qu’ils projetaient sur mon avenir, préoccupaient ma grand’mère, au cours de ces déambulations incessantes, de l’après-midi et du soir, où on voyait passer et repasser, obliquement levé vers le ciel, son beau visage aux joues brunes et sillonnées, devenues au retour de l’âge presque mauves comme les labours à l’automne, barrées, si elle sortait, par une voilette à demi relevée, et sur lesquelles, amené là par le froid ou quelque triste pensée, était toujours en train de sécher un pleur involontaire.

 

 

 

Proust, Marcel. Du côté de chez swann. À la recherche du temps perdu. Tome I.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96d/index.html

 

Proust, Marcel. Swan’s Way. Vol. 1 of Remembrance of Things Past. Transl. C.K. Scott Moncrieff.
Available online at:
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/p/proust/marcel/p96s/index.html

 

 

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